


this world won't last forever (but tonight we can pretend)

by frecklesandfrogboy (startwithasong)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asexual John Murphy, Background Clexa, Fluff, M/M, Murphamy Week, Murphamy Week 2016, Road Trips, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:01:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 22,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7380973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithasong/pseuds/frecklesandfrogboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To save Murphy from his existential dread, Bellamy suggests they skip school and go on a road trip. Clarke and Lexa tag along. Subsequent events include: getting buzzed on Mike's Hard Lemonade, inebriated slow-dancing in a hotel room to Troye Sivan, marathoning <i>Legend of Korra</i>, and late-night stargazing.</p><p>(in other words, murphy is a bored restless teenager and bellamy takes him on an adventure)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. THURSDAY

**Author's Note:**

> murphy and clarke are juniors, lexa and bellamy are seniors nearing graduation. murphy is asexual and doesn’t really like pda or even romantic contact such as kissing except in rare occasions. this fic kind of explores murphamy’s relationship as an ace/allo couple.
> 
> shout out to my sister for pushing me to finish, for being my beta, and for convincing me to agree that “girls like girls” is a great gay summer jam
> 
> title is from “wishing on dead stars” by matt hires which is featured in the fic playlist that goes along with this fic!!  
>  **listen to the fic playlist[on 8tracks](http://8tracks.com/thewilburytwist/this-world-won-t-last-forever-but-tonight-we-can-pretend/)!!**

“Do you ever feel like everything’s just the same?”

Bellamy’s shoulder brushes his as they walk to school. “What do you mean?”

“Like, every day. You wake up and you brush your teeth and you go to school and you sit in the same classes and you eat the same shit for lunch and you go back home and do the same homework and then you go to sleep and the next morning you wake up and do the same thing all over again. And then it’s the weekend and that’s the same too except you don’t go to school and sometimes you go out with the same friends to the same places. Every day, every week, every month, every year, all the same. It’s just New Year’s then Valentine’s then summer break then Fourth of July then school’s back and then it’s New Year’s again. You wake up, you go back to sleep. It’s all… the same.” He scuffs his shoe in the dirt, suddenly self-conscious.

Bellamy is silent for a moment. “That’s kind of depressing.”

“Yeah. Don’t you feel like that sometimes?”

“I guess I don’t really think about things like that,” Bellamy says, and reaches his hand out for Murphy to hold.

“How do you think about it?”

“I mean, it’s not _all_ the same. There’s a routine, yeah, but every day you do something different. You learn something new. Every day is like a new start, you know?”

“I _guess_.”

“I mean, think about it this way,” Bellamy says, pausing as they wait for the light above the crosswalk to signal them to cross. “We weren’t together a year ago, right? So one day you woke up and you went to school but it _wasn’t_ all the same because we started hanging out. And then we went out, and then we started dating. And now we’re here,” he says, squeezing Murphy’s hand.

“You’re really fucking cheesy, you know.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m right though.”

“I just feel so trapped sometimes. Like, my whole life, I feel like I’ve just been doing the same thing over and over and it’s just all the same.”

“Wanna do something different then?”

“Like what?”

“Let’s skip school tomorrow and go somewhere. It’s Friday. You know what? Let’s just go somewhere for the whole weekend.”

“Where would we go?”

“Who cares? Somewhere different.”

Murphy shrugs. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Bellamy looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “We don’t have to.”

“No, I want to. Sounds like a good plan.” Murphy squeezes his hand.

Bellamy grins, and Murphy can’t help but grin back. “Cool,” Bellamy says. “This’ll be fun.”

~ ~ ~

“Do you want to go over the lit assignment that’s due tomorrow after school?” Clarke asks when she sees Murphy approaching her locker.

“Hello to you too,” he says pointedly. “Me and Bell are skipping school tomorrow.”

Clarke pauses for a moment and shuts her locker. Murphy can almost smell her disapproval. “Why?”

“I’m just kinda done with school this week,” he says.

“What are you gonna do? Sit at home like a little hermit and smoke?”

“I told you I _stopped_ smoking.”

“Yeah, good, it’s gross.” They walk to the cafeteria where Bellamy is waiting.

He looks up from his phone to wave at them. “Hey, I just texted my mom, she says we can have the car.”

“Where are you going?” Clarke asks again, sitting next to him. Murphy had wanted to sit next to Bellamy, but he thinks it’s probably stupid to say anything. He sits next to Clarke.

“Road trip!” Bellamy proclaims. “We’re getting out of this crap town!”

Clarke looks thoughtful. “I could go for a road trip.”

Bellamy glances at Murphy, eyes questioning. The small gesture makes Murphy feel better, knowing Bellamy is willing to ditch Clarke for the weekend if he wants to. He shrugs.

“We could probably let you tag along,” Murphy says. “Assuming you pay your way.”

Clarke laughs. “Are _you_ paying your way?”

“He’s dating the driver,” Bellamy says, “he doesn’t have to.”

“Oh, whatever. I can pay.”

At that moment Lexa seems to appear out of nowhere and sits down next to Murphy, her obnoxiously heavy backpack all but crashing onto the table. She looks like a hot mess, probably from studying for whichever AP class she has today. “What is Clarke paying for?”

“We’re going on a road trip tomorrow,” Clarke says.

“Oh, it’s _we_ now?” Bellamy says jokingly.

“She’s dating the paying customer,” Clarke says. “What, don’t we all get a plus one?”

~ ~ ~

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at nine,” Bellamy says.

“Just don’t be late,” Clarke says, and laughs. Bellamy is never late; oftentimes he’s so early that nobody’s ever ready for him.

“I’ll try my hardest,” he replies. He waves goodbye to Clarke and Lexa. They board the bus and he and Murphy start the walk home.

“Are we really doing this?” Murphy asks.

“You still want to, right?”

“Yeah, definitely. It’s just like, so sudden. I dunno.”

Bellamy puts an arm around him. “It’s gonna be great, just wait. We’ve got the whole gang together, just us and the open road.” He gestures with his hand dramatically. “We’re running wild and free.” Bellamy grins at him. “What could possibly go wrong?”

Murphy laughs. “You’re so dumb.”

Bellamy holds out his hand. Murphy hesitates for a moment, hyper-aware of one of his classmates crossing the street toward them.

“It’s okay,” Bellamy says softly, brushing against Murphy’s shoulder. “I know that kid, he’s cool.”

Murphy just shakes his head, leaning slightly away until the kid passes them.

They walk for a moment in silence.

“You okay?” Bellamy asks.

Murphy takes his hand now. “Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry.”

“That’s all right,” Bellamy says. He squeezes. Murphy squeezes back.

“Where do you think we’ll end up?” Murphy asks, resuming their conversation.

“I hope somewhere far away. I want to be in our own little world wherever we stop.”

The idea makes a smile creep onto his face.

~ ~ ~

Murphy’s phone starts vibrating less than ten minutes after Bellamy drops him at his house. He picks up. “What?”

“Hello to you too,” Clarke replies. “You never did say where we were going.”

“Just somewhere for the weekend.”

“O-kaay,” Clarke says. He hears her say something to Lexa in the background. Lowering her voice, she says, “Don’t tell me you have no plan, Murphy. Lexa’s not gonna like that.”

“I know, just don’t tell her.”

“Whatever, she’s gonna keep asking me.”

“Just make something up! Tell her it’s a surprise.”

“You know her! She’s gonna keep prying. She’s already printed out an itinerary sheet to fill out. For _each_ of us.”

“Oh my god. When did you start dating Monica from _Friends_?”

“It just happened. Should we just bring like a change of clothes?”

“I don’t care. I’m not gonna tell you what to wear.”

“We’re bringing music. Your music sucks.”

“No way, driver gets to pick.”

“Ha, and cos you’re dating the driver you get to pick?”

“Exactly.”

“We’re bringing music, loser. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Whatever.”

She hangs up. Murphy calls Bellamy. “Abort, the women are bringing music.”

“What the fuck? No? Who do they think they are? I’m not listening to ‘Girls Like Girls’ seventy thousand times.”

“Right? I told Clarke no but she said yes. Except, I actually like that song.”

“She can suck it. We’ll listen to it once an hour, max.”

“I’ll tell them. Anyway, driver gets to pick the music.”

“Yeah, and you’re dating the driver, right?”

“Glad we all know how this works.”

“Okay, how about this. We all choose an album to listen to and whenever we’ve listened to all four albums we’ll find a place to stay for the weekend.”

“Oh that’s good. I’ll tell Clarke.”

“This is actually going to be a really cool trip.”

“I hope so,” Murphy says.

“You don’t have faith in my road trip planning skills?”

“Hmm. I’ll let you know when the weekend’s over. What’s your music gonna be?”

“I dunno yet. You?”

“I have some ideas.”

“That sounded way too devious… tone your emo crap down for us average listeners, okay?”

“Ha. No promises.”

“Yikes. I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll pick you up.”

“No, I can walk to your place.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t be late!”

Murphy groans. “I’ll do my best. See ya.”

Murphy texts Clarke the plan and hears the front door unlock. His stomach sinking, he closes the door to his room quietly. He sits there for a moment, listening to the movement downstairs. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be here anymore, at least not alone. He calls Bellamy again.

“Hey,” he says, quiet. “Talk to me?”

“Yeah, you okay?”

“Yeah. She’s home.”

Bellamy is silent for a moment. Murphy can hear shuffling on the other end. “I could just pick you up now, if you want. You could stay the night.”

Murphy glances around his room. He’s not really packed. Holding the phone against his shoulder, he grabs a change of clothes and a sweatshirt and stuffs them into his backpack.

“Murphy?”

“Yeah. I’ll be out in ten minutes.”

“Okay. Hang in there.”

“Thanks, Bell. Seriously.”

“No problem.”

He hangs up, puts the phone in his pocket, and grabs his headphones. Checking his wallet, he realizes he’s only got about five dollars on him. That shouldn’t be a problem, though, not while his mom is downstairs.

Murphy straps his backpack on and creeps into his mother’s room. He opens her sock drawer and feels around for the lump he’s looking for. After locating the sock she keeps her drinking money in, he counts the wad of cash quickly and quietly. She’s got around $120 stashed in her sock drawer alone.

He’d feel bad about stuffing the bills into his bag, but it isn’t like she’s going to use it to pay the utility bill. He knows it’s going to be blown on booze in a few days anyway.

He walks down the stairs toward the door. His mother is sitting at the table, looking blankly at nothing in particular. She turns to at him, sluggish, and he back at looks at her, defiant.

“Where are you going?” his mother asks, seeing his bag. She isn’t holding a drink, but her hands are shaking.

“Out,” Murphy says. “I’m getting picked up.”

“Who are you—”

“Bellamy.”

She blinks. “John—”

“Bye.”

His dutifully punctual boyfriend is parked in the driveway, the engine still running. Murphy opens the passenger door and gets in, throwing his bag onto the backseat.

“Hey Murph,” Bellamy says. He backs out of the driveway and onto the street. He hadn’t needed to drive—it’s about a fifteen minute walk between their houses—but the car allows for a fast getaway. Murphy knows Bellamy appreciates his situation.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Might as well get a start on this little vacation, right? It’s not a problem.”

“Is O home?”

“Yeah. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. Your mom?”

“Work.”

“Oh, good.” He feels like a bother. “What were you planning on doing tonight?”

Bellamy shrugs, tapping against the steering wheel in a way that makes Murphy anxious. “Nothing much. I have to get gas and pack for the trip, but other than that I was going to do homework.”

Murphy stares at him. “We’re skipping school.”

“Yeah, but we’re not going to do homework this weekend, are we?”

Oh. Murphy hadn’t thought of that. He’s not the think-things-through type. He has Bellamy for that. “I didn’t bring anything,” he says.

Bellamy glances at him. “I mean, you did leave in a hurry. It’s not your fault.”

Murphy stays quiet. Now he _really_ feels like a bother.

Bellamy turns into his street and pulls into the driveway of his house. It’s not big, but it’s a lot nicer than Murphy’s in that it doesn’t feel dark and cold all the time.

“You could call Clarke, didn’t you have a lit assignment to do?”

“Oh, yeah,” he says. He reaches across the backseat to grab his bag and follows Bellamy into the house.

Octavia is sitting—or more like _lounging_ —at the dining room table, her phone pressed to her ear and her feet resting up on the table’s surface. She glances up. “One sec, Raven.”

“Hey, O,” Bellamy says. “Murphy’s staying the night.”

“Hi, Murphy.” Octavia waves at him, still listening to the person on the other end of the phone.

“You want to let us use the table?” Bellamy asks.

Octavia rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Nice to see ya, Murphy.”

“You too,” Murphy says. He likes Octavia; she’s pretty and confident and nice and she doesn’t pay any attention to Murphy when he visits their house.

Octavia takes her feet off the table and takes her phone conversation upstairs to her room. “Want anything to eat?” Bellamy asks, taking a granola bar out of one of the cabinets in the kitchen. Murphy shakes his head, setting his bag on the floor.

After calling Clarke about his lit assignment and borrowing Bellamy’s laptop, Murphy and Bellamy settle into a comfortable silence. Murphy finds himself actually doing decent work, occasionally glancing up to see Bellamy is also making good progress on his stats homework.

Eventually Octavia comes downstairs and makes herself a sandwich. “Have you just been working this whole time?” She sounds mildly impressed.

Murphy glances at the time on Bellamy’s computer. They’d been at it for over three hours. He hadn’t noticed. Bellamy rubs his eyes and leans back in his chair. “I guess we have. Get anything done, Murph?”

“Yeah. I’m almost done, actually.”

“ _Wow_. You’re both nerds, I hope you know.” Octavia grabs a can of Pepsi from the fridge. “Have fun with that,” she says, and disappears back into her room.

“Wanna eat something?” Bellamy asks.

They end up eating two cups of instant noodles (each) while watching a rerun of _America’s Next Top Model_ , sitting too-close on the couch for noodle-eating comfort (Murphy spills on Bellamy twice; once by accident and once on purpose, because the first time was funny). They end up in a heated debate over a model that Murphy almost immediately hates but Bellamy likes.

“He’s good, he’s _dynamic_! He has a great look!”

“He’s an asshole and he doesn’t deserve to be there! Don is way better-looking _and_ he’s a better model. Did you see Marvin’s photo? They’re fucking crazy, they should have sent him home, not Don.” The judges have just sent Don home despite his clearly superior photo and Murphy is furious.

“Don’s picture is _boring_. Marvin’s has _color_ , it has charisma!”

“Oh my god, Bell, I swear— _look_ at him, the makeup is doing everything, he’s just fucking standing there! The _parrot_ looks more interesting than he does.”

“Don’t even talk to me about—okay, look—” Bellamy’s on his phone, looking up the winner of the cycle. “Look, Marvin got second place in the whole competition, he _deserves_ to be there.”

Murphy makes a frustrated noise. “Who won?”

“Jourdan.”

Murphy wrinkles his nose. “And Marvin was second? What the fuck. Tyra’s losing her touch.”

Bellamy laughs. “I didn’t know you’d get so passionate about _Top Model_.”

“You’re the jock here, what’s your excuse?”

“Um, that I don’t care about male gender roles and Marvin should have won?”

Murphy scoffs. After about twenty minutes of debate, they look it up and find that both Don and Marvin have had successful modeling careers post- _Top Model_ , and they call a truce. Bellamy convinces Murphy do another hour of homework, and Murphy actually manages to submit his essay.

It’s about ten at night when they finally finish, and although it’s just another Thursday, Murphy is exhausted. “You wanna do anything?” he asks, yawning.

“Nah, I’m beat. We should sleep anyway, I have to get gas and we have to leave early to pick up Clarke and Lexa.”

Murphy follows Bellamy into his room and he sets his backpack on the floor. He watches Bellamy stuff clothes into a duffel bag. “Finish your homework?”

“What? Yeah. I felt like I really got into the zone.”

“Me too. It usually takes me like two years to write one essay.”

Bellamy grins at him, zipping the duffel bag. “Maybe we should study together more often.” He reaches across his neatly made bed (Murphy marvels at the amount of effort it must take to be perfectly punctual _and_ regularly make your bed) and pulls the blankets back.

Murphy stuffs his hands into his sweatshirt awkwardly. “So… should I take the couch?”

Bellamy gives him a look that says _are you kidding?_ “You can sleep with me if you want.”

“Okay,” Murphy says, both relieved and nervous. They go through this same conversation every time Murphy stays over, but for some reason he always feels the need to ask permission, like he’s afraid this time Bellamy will change his mind. He never does.

Bellamy slips off his jeans and pulls a fresh t-shirt over his head. The casual intimacy of this motion makes Murphy’s skin tingle. Murphy hasn’t brought anything to sleep in, but he usually forgets to change his clothes anyway. “Um,” he says.

“I have extra pajamas in my drawer if you want them,” Bellamy says, gentle.

Murphy selects a plain t-shirt and the smallest pair of pajama bottoms he can find out of Bellamy’s drawer. He hesitates in unbuttoning his jeans, glancing at Bellamy as color rises to his cheeks. But Bellamy seems to know, and is already facing the opposite side of the room, checking his phone. Murphy changes quickly. The shirt, well-worn, smells strongly of Bellamy, making Murphy feel soft.

Bellamy turns, seeing he’s finished, and sets his phone onto the bedside table.

“Left or right?” he asks casually, slipping under the covers and looking up expectantly.

“Left,” Murphy says. Bellamy has a full-size bed, a feat that has always blown Murphy’s mind, but he always asks which side Murphy wants to sleep on, and though it’s such a small, silly thing, it’s still more than Murphy would ever ask for. Bellamy just seems to know these things.

Murphy climbs onto the bed and settles in to Bellamy’s left. His bed at home is so stiff that sleeping on Bellamy’s is like sleeping on a big fucking cloud. He could fall asleep right now.

“Big or little spoon?”

“Oh, um…” Murphy feels dumb always choosing little, feels like he should be the one offering something, but Bellamy has never seemed to mind. “Little.”

Bellamy smiles, seeming to sense his hesitation. He reaches over to turn off his nightlight. Murphy feels an arm wrapping around his torso, pulling him closer, until he can feel the warmth of Bellamy’s body against his back. “Is this okay?” Bellamy asks against his neck.

“Yeah,” Murphy whispers, shaky. He never knows how much he needs this until it’s happening, and each time it overwhelms him. This is what being safe feels like; what belonging feels like. He breathes in, feeling Bellamy breathing beside him. All he can smell is Bellamy, all around him. It’s almost too much, and somehow, not enough. He closes his eyes.

“Good night, Murphy.” Bellamy already sounds tired. He always knocks out like a brick, leaving Murphy to drift asleep on his own, but Murphy doesn’t mind too much. He knows that Bellamy is there, and he would wake up in a heartbeat if necessary.

“Good night, Bell.”

Bellamy hugs him closer, until Murphy can feel the faintest press of his lips against his neck before Bellamy drifts off completely; not quite a kiss but close enough that it makes Murphy shiver.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the models that murphy and bell are arguing about from america's next top model are [don](https://iamrian7.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/544348_497513046971792_1055179412_n.jpg) and [marvin](https://iamrian7.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/578147_497513606971736_1654412965_n.jpg) and im still salty so tell me who you agree with: bellamy (ie you like marvin) or murphy (ie you like don). just for fun.


	2. FRIDAY

Murphy wakes up to someone nudging his arm, gentle but persistent. He mutters something incomprehensible and squints his eyes open. Bellamy’s face smiles back at him. He’s still being nudged.  
****

“ _What_ ,” he grunts.

“Time to wake up, sleeping beauty.”

Murphy groans. More nudges. “What time is it?”

“Road trip time.” Murphy feels a pair of jeans land on top of him. 

“ _Belllll_.”

“Come on, this is your road trip. We’re saving you from your existential dread, remember?”

“Ugghhh.” Murphy rubs his eyes and pushes the blankets off. “What time is it, Bell?”

“It’s eight-forty. We’re picking the girls up at nine.”

Murphy wakes up a little more at that. “You have to get the gas!”

Bellamy laughs. “No, I woke up early. Everything’s ready.” He pokes Murphy on the nose. “Except you.”

Murphy makes a face at him and bats his hand away, but he gets off the bed and stretches. Bellamy is already dressed, but his hair, like always, is endearingly messy. “Come downstairs when you’re ready, we should leave soon.”

Murphy changes his clothes and goes to the bathroom. He stares blankly at his reflection for a moment. The pale, average boy looking back at him looks skeptical and bored. He glares at himself. “You’re going to have fun this weekend,” he says, jabbing a finger at the mirror.

The boy in the mirror still looks unconvinced. Murphy sighs and brings his backpack downstairs. Bellamy hands him two granola bars and a banana, like he knows Murphy won’t go out of his way to feed himself unless Bellamy makes him (he’s not wrong). “Ready?”

“Yeah,” Murphy says, giving him a smile. “Let’s do this.”

Clarke and Lexa are waiting outside Clarke’s house when they pull up. Between the two of them, they have two backpacks, a duffel bag, and an armful of blankets. “I’m driving a Subaru, not a _bus_ ,” Bellamy says, looking pointedly at their luggage.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “My mom found out we were taking a trip and wanted to make sure we were properly equipped. But on the bright side, she made us all lunch!”

“By lunch, you mean…”

“Yes, she also made cookies.”

“ _Fuck_ yes.” Abby’s cookies are inarguably the best cookies in the entire world. Everyone _says_ their mom’s cookies are the best cookies in the world, but unless their mom is Abby Griffin, they’re wrong. We’re not even talking basic mom-cookies like chocolate chip or peanut butter. Abby can make those to perfection, but you haven’t lived until you’ve eaten her soft-as-a-cloud lemon dream cookies or her brownie-mix cookies with powdered sugar.

Murphy helps Lexa load—or more accurately, _stuff_ —their luggage into the trunk of Bellamy’s car. When he makes it back to the front of the car, he finds Clarke sitting, somewhat smugly, in the front seat.

He stares at her, incredulous. “Dude, that’s my seat.”

Clarke shrugs at him, grinning. “You _did_ get out. You didn’t call shotgun.”

“Fuck you, we’re too old to call shotgun.”

Clarke is being _incredibly_ smug now. “You’re only saying that because you didn’t call shotgun.”

“You are exhausting,” Murphy grumbles, because she’s right, and he’s an idiot for not calling shotgun in the present company.

Bellamy gives Murphy an amused look of pity as he climbs into the backseat with Lexa. “Just don’t fall in love with me, Clarke,” he jokes.

“Gross,” she says, making a very exaggerated face of disgust. “No offense, but that’s like… incredibly gross.”

“Okay first, that was a joke, and second, offense. Offense taken. I’m amazing, right Murphy?”

“Eh… Six out of ten.”

“You’re all horrible. Except Lexa, who is the only redeemable human being in this horrible horrible friend group.”

“You’re too kind, Bellamy.”

“Oh my god,” Clarke groans. “What does she want now.” Abby Griffin is making her way to the car, waving something in her hand. Clarke rolls down her window— _Murphy’s_ rightful window, mind you—and says, “ _Whaaat_ ” in the way that normal kids seem to talk to their mothers.

“I just wanted to say goodbye to you all,” Abby says, smiling at all of them. She waves into the back seat. “Hello, Murphy. Bellamy. Have a good time, all right? You deserve the break!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Griffin,” Lexa says.

“ _Mom_ ,” Clarke says, exasperation edging into her voice.

“I know, I know. Here,” Abby says, pressing a small coin purse into Clarke’s hands. “See you all later! Have fun!”

“What was that?” Murphy asks when Abby’s disappeared back into the house. Bellamy pulls out of the driveway and heads toward town.

Clarke checks the pouch. “Just some change for tolls…” She pauses, face changing. “And a hundred bucks!”

Murphy laughs. “That’s incredible. Here I have to steal my mom’s money out of her fucking sock drawer, and yours just hands it to you with a smile on her face.”

Lexa glances at Murphy with a strange look on her face. “No, not to make the mood weird,” he backtracks. “It’s just, it is kind of funny.”

“Wait, how much did you get?” Clarke asks.

“Like one-twenty.”

“So we have lunch and cookies for today, courtesy of Clarke’s mom, and two hundred twenty bucks? Did I hear that right?” Bellamy sounds incredulous. “How did this work itself out perfectly?”

“This,” Clarke says, “is going to be the best fucking weekend ever.”

They’re at the stoplight in front of the highway. In an instant Murphy feels electrified now that everyone’s here and this is _actually happening_. They other three seem to feel the same way; they all seem to break into a smile simultaneously.

The light turns green. Bellamy’s eyes find his through the rear-view mirror. “Ready?”

“Geronimo,” Lexa whispers.

Bellamy turns onto the highway.

It’s 9:23 in the morning; second period should have just started. But here they are, not in French or English or AP Statistics. Murphy feels his body tingle. Bellamy was right—the dead, boring feeling of his everyday routine is nowhere to be found. They’re barely fifteen minutes from home, but the burden already seems to be lifted. Young and free.

“Hey, we’re on the road now! Time for music,” Clarke says.

“Oh right. We have to start the drive time,” Bellamy says. “Who wants to go first?”

“What’s the drive time?” Lexa asks. “I can’t help but notice you haven’t programmed the GPS.” 

Bellamy glances at Murphy through the rearview mirror. “You want to go first, Lexa?” He’s blatantly ignoring her question. “What’d you bring?”

Lexa hands him her phone. “It’s the first playlist. _Blue Neighborhood_ by Troye Sivan. Have you heard it?”

Bellamy hands the phone to Clarke, who plugs it into the dashboard and scrolls through Lexa’s music until she finds the right playlist. “Ohh, this is that Australian kid,” Bellamy says when the first song starts. “Yeah, I’ve heard this one. Remember, Murph? This music video with the gay couple?”

“Yeah, I remember it.” They’d watched it six times in a row. It had reminded them of themselves, in a sad way. In a good way, too. “Nice pick, Lexa, I’m kinda impressed. Really starting off the trip with a gay vibe.”

“What other vibe is there, really,” Clarke asks.

“Honestly, this could very well be the gayest road trip in history,” Lexa observes mildly.

“Well, technically bi,” Clarke reminds her.

“Pan,” Bellamy pipes up.

“I’ve got you, Lex,” Murphy says, patting her on the shoulder.

“I appreciate it, Murphy.”

They sit quietly for a moment, speeding down the highway five miles over sixty, listening to Troye Sivan’s cool vocals washing over them.

“So, Bellamy, Clarke has managed to keep our destination from me all night. Where are we heading?”

Bellamy looks at Murphy through the rearview mirror again, a bit panicked. “Uhh,” he says. “Clarke, you’re up!”

“You’re such a baby,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Lex, we’re kind of, um… winging it.”

“…Winging it?”

“Yeah! Y’know, we’re being spontaneous.” She jabs an elbow at Bellamy. “It was all Bellamy’s idea.”

“Don’t bully the driver while he’s _driving_ ,” Bellamy scolds.

“You… don’t have a plan?” Lexa doesn’t sound mad so much as confused. She has a look on her face that says she doesn’t quite fathom how one can just _not have a plan_.

“No, we have a plan,” Murphy says. “Bellamy came up with it. You know how we were each supposed to bring an album to listen to?”

“Yes?”

“Whenever we finish listening to all four we’re gonna stop and see where we’re at. Fun, right?”

Lexa looks a bit pale. “Fun,” she repeats. “Clarke, you could have _warned_ me.”

Clarke shrugs her shoulders, looking apologetic. “We’re… pushing you to try new things?”

Lexa scoffs, already pulling out her phone. “All right, everyone tell me what music you’ve brought.”

“Wait, why?”

“I’m going to calculate how long each album is to figure out how long the drive will be so I can find us a place to sleep. Or have you forgotten that’s how _actual human beings_ travel?”

“Oh my god,” Clarke says, “okay. I brought _Red_ by Taylor Swift.”

Bellamy groans. “Clarke, what the fuck. This is why we didn’t want you to choose the music.”

“You’ve let us all down,” Murphy says. “Everyone knows _Red_ is her worst fucking album.”

“It’s really not her best,” Lexa admits.

“Oh, fuck all of you. The second it comes on you’re all going to be singing along at the top of your lungs. Don’t act like I don’t know you all incredibly well.”

To be fair to Clarke… she’s right. But none of them are going to admit that they still have a soft spot in their hearts for Taylor Swift music, and _especially_ not for her messy transition-to-pop period. (None of them, of course, have any love left for the woman herself, being a smidge too _white feminist_ for their tastes, but that’s really beside the point.)

“Murphy, Bellamy, pause. You can continue shaming Clarke in a moment.” Clarke makes an indignant noise, but Lexa continues. “Bellamy, what did you bring?”

“Seventeen tracks of Hozier goodness,” Bellamy says, sounding triumphant.

“Boo, you’re ruining the gay vibe.” Clarke makes a thumbs-down in Bellamy’s direction.

“What?! Hozier is amazing, not to mention hot. What’s gay about Taylor Swift? Lexa, back me up here!”  
“Overruled. And you, Murphy?”

“ _The Fame Monster_.”

“…Okay, Murph, you win the gay-off,” Bellamy relents.

“As I should.”

“Isn’t that album really long?”

“It’s only like. An hour and a half. It’s Lady Gaga, though, you can never have too much of her.”

Lexa makes a small sighing noise and enters a few things into her phone. “So… you geniuses have planned over four hours of driving with no destination. Do you still want to continue with this plan of ‘winging it?’”

Bellamy makes a face. “I guess gas is pretty expensive…”

“We could skip all the songs we don’t like?”

“Why did you all choose such long albums?” Lexa says, near-complaining but with a whole lot more dignity than anyone else could possibly muster. “Mine is a _normal_ length that _normal people_ listen to, and here you all are choosing albums that are the same length as a movie?”

“Oh, did I mention I brought the deluxe version of _Red_ with six bonus tracks?” Clarke asks, pulling a CD out of her bag.

“Did you seriously bring a fucking CD?”

“Clarke, oh my god.”

Lexa groans. “You’re all a mess. Just—just let me listen to Troye in peace so I can find us a place to stay.”

“You’re a life-saver, Lex.”

“ _Hush_.”

They quiet down to give Lexa some peace, but moments later “YOUTH” comes onto the stereo, a song they all know the words to, and soon they’re singing as loud as they can until Lexa finally relents and joins them in their exuberance.

~ ~ ~

“Come on, Clarke, do we have to listen to Taylor Swift’s worst creation? I seem to recall you saying _our_ musical taste was bad.”

“Your pick should be disqualified just for bringing a CD. Really.”

Clarke pushes the disc into the dash of Bellamy’s car, which surprisingly is still home to a CD-player, despite being made in this century. “All of you are going to sing, and all of you are going to love it, and all of you are going to _thank me_.”

The CD starts to play. Murphy has to admit… it’s not bad road trip music. He watches cars speed by, sun beating down on the car, and when Taylor Swift starts singing the chorus of “State of Grace,” he finds himself humming along.

As songs go by the four go from grudging tapping of their feet, to absent humming along to the tune, to muttering the words, to full-out singing along. “God, okay… In the midst of objecting to the whole _idea_ of this album, I forgot it had good songs on it,” Bellamy says.

Clarke smirks and turns the volume up louder as _the song_ comes on. Lexa groans as Clarke twists around to face her and starts to sing, “I remember when we broke up, the first time…”

“Oh my god,” Lexa mutters as Clarke sings the verse, “I was hoping you’d never have to see us like this.”

“What do you—” Murphy begins, but the chorus comes and Lexa seem to spring alive and she’s yelling along with Clarke

“WE… ARE NEVER EVER EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER,” and Murphy hears Bellamy’s voice join them and he has no choice but to take a deep breath and sing with them, “WE ARE NEVER EVER EVER EVER _EVER—GETTING BACK TOGETHER_!” and then the barrier is broken and the rest of the song is belted from every corner of the car, complete with rock-and-roll head banging, air-guitar solos, and a steering-wheel drum solo from Bellamy. And, to the surprise of everyone else in the car, it turns out that Clarke and Lexa have memorized the monologue from the bridge and can do a near-flawless impersonation.

They stop at a rest stop at the side of the highway and unveil the lunch Clarke’s mom graciously prepared for them, huddling around a frankly pathetic wooden lunch table a few feet away from Bellamy’s car. Clarke takes out aluminum-wrapped packs with each of their names written on them in red Sharpie.

Bellamy sits close to Murphy, not quite close to be touching, but close enough for Murphy to feel his presence. “What’d she put in yours?” he asks, nodding at Murphy’s sandwich.

Murphy unwraps his sandwich to find a peanut butter sandwich (creamy, not chunky); his favorite. “Peanut butter,” he says. “Clarke, did you tell your mom what to give us?”  
Clarke glances up innocently. “I mean, she asked what you liked to eat, so I told her. I played no greater role.”

“Thanks.”

Bellamy checks his. “Turkey sub. Clarke, you’re the best.”

“Technically my mom is the best, but I’m completely fine with getting all the credit.”

Lexa unwraps her sandwich but leaves it untouched, still on her phone. “All right,” she announces, “I found a place two hours away that’s cheap.”

“Okay but, is it _gross?_ I’d rather not spend the night in a shithole.” If Murphy had wanted to do that, he would have stayed home.

Lexa crosses her arms. “Well, it’s not my fault nobody bothered thinking this through.”

“I told you we had it handled,” Clarke says, still cheerfully eating her meatball sub. (Abby’s ability to be a culinary master, a present mother, and maintain a full-time, high-paying job is still a marvel to him, considering Murphy’s mother can hardly manage to feed herself, much less him). 

“Babe, come on. That’s bullshit. You should have told me your ‘plan’”—she says this with air quotes—“so we could have avoided this.”

Clarke stops chewing. “Are you mad at me?”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “No, I’m just— _you_ try finding a nice hotel on such short notice with a budget like ours!”

Bellamy pokes Murphy, his cheeks looking red. “They’re like an old married couple,” he mutters. “Do—do _we_ do that?”

Murphy thinks back to the night before, to _America’s Next Top Model_ fights and messy ramen eating and… cuddling. He blushes. “No, definitely not.”

Bellamy grins as if he’s reading Murphy’s thoughts. “Definitely not.”

Clarke fusses over Lexa for another moment until Lexa hands over the phone. “Wait, what’s—” She frowns and taps at Lexa’s phone. “Here!” She turns the phone back to Lexa.

Murphy watches them with vague curiosity. They’ve been together for almost two years, and they do sort of act in a close, comfortable way that makes it seem like they’ve been together forever. Although he’s known Bellamy since they were little kids, they only started talking near the end of his sophomore year, and later got together in the following winter. 

Murphy feels comfortable with Bellamy. He does. More so than with probably anyone else. But Clarke and Lexa seem to be at the next level, and Murphy can’t help but wonder if it’s because they’re so… physical. They’re always touching, always kissing, always… something. He frowns. He doesn’t _love_ touching, but with Bellamy he doesn’t _hate_ it either. He likes holding hands most of the time. Likes the subtle contact when Bellamy brushes his arm, just for a moment. If he slides a bit closer, their arms would be touching. That’s something, isn’t it? But it doesn’t seem the same as…

“You’re all quiet, Murph. Whatcha thinking about?” Clarke leans against Lexa’s shoulder as Lexa finally digs into her sandwich. She covers the distance easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Would it be if he did the same? He thinks it would, but even so—

“Hmm?” His head jerks, eyes focusing. “Oh, I just… I was thinking about how you’re… you two are going on two years this summer, aren’t you?”

“Oh yeah, two years and Clexa’s still going stronger than ever!” Clarke says, laughing at Lexa’s face when she hears the word.

“What’s Clexa?” Bellamy sounds as if he’s already figured it out and is dreading the answer.

“It’s our relationship name, obviously.”

“You felt the need to name your relationship?” Murphy asks, raising an eyebrow at Lexa.

Lexa shrugs, waving her hand. “It was Clarke’s idea.”

“We’re the greatest couple of queer women ever, probably. We have to have a name,” Clarke says. 

“What would ours be?” Bellamy muses.

“Our what?” Murphy asks, and this time he definitely knows the answer.

“Bellaphy? Bellurphy? Berphy… Berphy, we’re Berphy.” Bellamy laughs.

“Why is your name first?” Murphy complains. “Those names sound like puke.”

“Murphy’s right,” Clarke butts in. “Your ship name is Murphamy.”

“Ha! I’m first,” Murphy says, jabbing a finger in Bellamy’s face.

“What makes you the resident expert?” Bellamy glares at Clarke.

“She’s made names for all of her friends,” Lexa says, sighing.

“All of them?” Murphy asks. “You’re a fucking honor student, where do you find the time?”

“What, do you think I _sleep_?” Clarke asks.

“She’s not kidding,” Lexa says when Murphy laughs. “She coined the term ‘Clexa’ at four a.m. instead of studying for the AP Language exam. I know this because she _called_ me at four a.m. The morning of _my_ statistics exam.”

“As you can see, we’ve solved the key to a long, prosperous relationship.”

Bellamy nudges Murphy. “Hey, we’re on the right track, then. We’ve done early-morning phone calls tons of times.” He grins.

They had, but mostly because of a mix of nightmares or an inability to fall asleep in the first place. Murphy deflects quickly. “Did you solve the hotel problem?”

“Yeah. Clarke got onto her mom’s Holiday Inn rewards account and she had a bunch of free nights saved up. We can stay the weekend at a place near the one I was looking at, but significantly nicer.”

“No need to thank us,” Clarke says, raising her hand haltingly. “Your unbridled joy is enough.”

Lexa rolls her eyes. “You did next to nothing. You logged into your _mother’s_ rewards account and used _her_ credit card.”

“Hey, I mean—you know who _really_ did nothing,” Clarke says, sticking a finger in Bellamy’s face and waving it between him and Murphy, “ _These_ two.”

“I am the driver and the _mastermind_ of this entire operation,” Bellamy says, crumpling the aluminum foil from his sandwich.

Clarke looks fake-accusingly at Murphy. “What do _you_ have to say for yourself?”

Murphy shrugs. “I’m the pocketful of sunshine that holds this whole group together.”

~ ~ ~

“We’re like half an hour from the hotel,” Bellamy says when _Hozier_ finishes. “Sorry Murph, you kinda got the short end of the stick.”

“Ah, it’s fine,” he mutters, going through his phone quickly. “I have a playlist that’s shorter.”

Bellamy mounts Murphy’s phone to the dash and smirks when he hits play. “You have a whole playlist of Lady Gaga?”

“Don’t shame me,” Murphy says as Gaga counts in and his favorite song starts.

They get to the Holiday Inn with most of the evening to spare. It’s shockingly nice, and Murphy can hardly believe that instead of wasting away at home for the weekend he’s going to be here, in what might as well be a five-star hotel for all he knows, with his best friends.

“They have a fucking—they have _free breakfast_ ,” Bellamy says, pulling Murphy toward a sign as if he can’t believe it. “I’m eating all the bacon they have. Literally just… all of it.”

After fumbling with the room key for too long they survey their temporary home. The beds aren’t enormous, but compared to what Murphy’s used to they’re lush and comfortable and wonderfully foreign. He collapses onto the bed closest to the door, and with a great _thump_ Bellamy follows him.

“I guess they’ve claimed that one,” Clarke says in the background, but Murphy’s too busy grinning at Bellamy to pay much attention.

“This is amazing,” he says. The blankets are soft against his cheek. “I can’t believe we actually did this.”

Bellamy laughs and Murphy feels completely at peace. “I am pretty spectacular,” Bellamy says. “God, I could go to sleep right now.”

“Nooo.” Murphy pokes at Bellamy’s leg with his foot. “Don’t go to sleep, we have stuff to do.”

Bellamy scrunches his nose and closes his eyes. “ _You_ didn’t drive the whole way. I’m exhausted.” As if to prove his point, he yawns widely and snuggles into the blankets.

Murphy’s not tired, but he feels like he could stay like this forever, just laying there, looking at Bellamy.

The moment is shattered as Clarke leaps onto their bed, nearly bouncing Bellamy off the edge. He yelps and grabs at Murphy in an attempt to stay on. “Don’t you worry Bell,” Murphy says, amused at his look of desperation. “I won’t drop ya.” He pulls Bellamy back onto to bed by his arm.

“What the fuck,” he groans, “I was half asleep.” He squeezes his eyes shut as if in an attempt to take the moment back.

“Exactly.” Clarke’s face looms over them, smiling with a half-crazed look in her eyes. “You can’t go to sleep, Bellamy, our vacation _just_ started. We’re going on an adventure!”

Bellamy makes a face and opens his eyes, frowning up at Clarke. “And who is taking you on this adventure?”

Clarke grins. “You are the driver.”

~ ~ ~

They drive around the town for a while, taking in their new surroundings. As they drive, restaurants and clothing stores fade into a more residential area, until they pass by a large patch of uncharacteristic green. “Bell, go there!” Lexa says suddenly, tapping on the window at the park.

Bellamy looks confused, but Lexa sounds urgent, so he signals and turns into the parking lot. “What is it?”

Lexa unbuckles her seat and opens the door. “Let’s hang out at the park,” she says, and she’s gone.

Bellamy frowns at Murphy. “Don’t look at me,” he says. “I have no idea what that was about. Clarke?”

Clarke just laughs. “I think she saw a dog,” she says.

The park isn’t huge, but it’s not small; clusters of trees and flowers spread across the landscape, a winding path leads toward a little duck pond surrounded by benches. Sure enough, when they find Lexa she’s crouched on the ground, stroking the ears of an enormous, fluffy dog who seems to be beaming back at her. “Her name is Wybie,” she says adoringly.

“She’s gorgeous,” Clarke says. “Can we pet her?”

Wybie’s owner is a young woman who looks only a few years older than them. “Of course,” she says. She looks like she’s been asked this question about a million times.

Clarke bends down to where Lexa is and rubs the dog’s back.

Bellamy glances at him. “Wanna pet the dog?”

Murphy likes the idea of dogs, and he appreciates the short clips of them doing stupid things on the internet, but he’s a bit intimidated by the dogs he’s met in person, especially one as large as this. He’s more of a cat person; they’re far less demanding.

“Do you?”

Bellamy shrugs. “I want to go look at the pond.”

Murphy follows him down the path toward the pond, which sparkles dark in the sun. As they get closer Murphy can hear the quacking and chirping of ducks and frogs and birds and he’s overwhelmed by how different this little patch of nature is from the suburbs they came from. He can’t remember the last time he’s seen a duck.

Bellamy reaches out and Murphy takes his hand, interlocking fingers naturally. They sit at a bench facing the water and watch the ducks pick at the grass around the pond.

“What do animals even do all day?” Murphy muses. “Do you think they have a concept of time?”

Bellamy snorts. “You think about the weirdest shit.”

“I mean, all they do every day is swim around and look for food. Do you think they’re aware of time passing? Like, wouldn’t that be super boring? Just like, sun up to sun down, let’s just look for stuff to eat.”

“Sounds like you,” Bellamy says. Murphy glares and Bellamy laughs, and Murphy feels himself smile watching Bellamy’s eyes crinkle, mouth curving over pointed teeth.

“I just can’t imagine what it would be like if that’s _all_ life was, just looking for food and chilling in a pond. Like… get a _job_.”

Bellamy laughs again. Murphy seems to be good at making him laugh, despite being a generally unfunny person. “There’s more to duck life than that,” Bellamy says. “They have to fly around, get their exercise. Avoid all the mean animals who have to eat them. They have to make nests and stuff. And babies. _That’s_ the real point of duck life. Making more ducks.”

“Gross.”

One of the ducks swimming closest to them seems to hear his disgust at their procreative behaviors and quacks, swimming away quickly and joining the other ducks in the middle of the pond. “I think you offended him.”

“Well, his duck sex offended me. Get a room.”

Bellamy stretches his legs and slumps against the bench. “We should feed them.”

“Then what would they have to do? Bell, you can’t take away the only thing they have to _do_ all day.”

“That’s what people do at ponds with ducks!”

Somehow Bellamy manages to find an old granola bar out of thin air (aka the pocket of his blazer), and breaks it in half for Murphy. “Are they supposed to eat this? It has sugar in it, I think.”

“So does bread. I dunno. Feed the ducks, Murph.”

He crumbles the granola bar in his hand and tosses a few pieces onto the ground. None of the ducks seem to notice. “They don’t want your dumb old granola, Bell.”

“You’re old granola. They’ll come.” Bellamy tosses a few of his own granola pieces onto the ground, closer to the water, and sure enough the ducks notice and swim closer cautiously.

The duck Murphy offended earlier (he now thinks it’s probably a girl duck, because she’s brown and speckled and boy ducks are the colorful ones, he remembers, which is sort of gay if he thinks about it) is the first to take a peck at their granola, and soon all the ducks, about seven in all, are eating old granola that Murphy and Bellamy toss toward them.

They run out quickly and the ducks quack at them, wanting more. “See, we’ve only made their hunger _worse_ , they just want more,” Murphy says.

“We can’t _spoil_ them,” Bellamy says, standing up and dusting crumbs off his jeans. “I’m out of old granola.”

The ducks realize this after a few more moments of quacking and swim away. “Bye, Agnes,” Murphy calls to the first duck.

“Agnes is a terrible name for a duck,” Bellamy says. “I thought we said he was a boy?”

“I changed my mind,” Murphy says. “I think she’s a girl. And Agnes is offended that you think her name is terrible. What’s a good name for a duck, anyway?”

Bellamy thinks for a moment. “Percival.”

“Well, that one can be Percival,” Murphy says, pointing at a duck with a blue stripe by its neck.

The sun is going down when they finish hanging out at the park (Bellamy and Murphy name the remaining ducks and Lexa meets three more dogs) and they drive back to the hotel, stopping for gas and take-out Chinese food.

They turn the TV down low on _Nickelodeon_ , which is playing a marathon of _Legend of Korra._ “Fuck, this show was my favorite a few years ago,” Clarke says as she digs into her teriyaki chicken.  
“I forgot everything that happened on it,” Bellamy says, “but I remember it. Korra was hot.” A different character with spiked black hair flashes onto the screen. “Oh wait. Okay, _Mako_ was hot.”

“So hot he’s on _fire_?” Lexa says loudly. “Get it? Firebender?” She smiles to herself. “I’m hilarious.”

“Korra’s canonically bisexual,” Clarke says. “And so is Asami! Her girrrlfriend.” She sighs happily. “I love my bi babies.”

“I always thought Mako was bisexual, to be honest,” Murphy says. “He _seems_ super straight, but then season four happens and you’re like, he’s definitely got it bad for Prince Wu. We all know it.”

Clarke’s eyes widen. “They could… _all_ be bisexual!”

Bellamy laughs, stretching out on the bed. “As fun as this is, I kinda wish I had brought some beer. We could have made this a real Friday night.”

“Actually…” Lexa gets off the bed and walks over to her two-ton duffel bag, pulling out two six-packs of Mike’s Hard Lemonade. “Who needs beer, when you could have the deliciously fresh taste of Mike’s?”

“ _Yesss_ , I _knew_ we brought you for a reason!” Bellamy says. He holds his hand out.

“Regular, strawberry, or raspberry?”

“Strawberry.”

“Gay,” Clarke says as Lexa tosses the bottle to him. “I’ll take raspberry.”

“Isn’t that more gay?” Murphy asks. “I think that’s more gay.”

“Raspberry is _refined_.”

“Murphy’s right,” Lexa confirms. “What do you want?”

“Regular.”

Bellamy takes a gulp of his. “I’m pretty sure regular is gay too.”

“It’s a gay drink. I thought it would be appropriate given our present company.” Lexa shrugs. “And everyone knows beer is disgusting.”

“This is only like 5% though. It’s gonna take like five to get drunk,” Bellamy says, squinting at the bottle.

“Right, but tell me, Bellamy,” Lexa says, “what does Mike’s Hard Strawberry Lemonade taste like?”

Bellamy takes another sip. “Like… summertime and happiness?”

Lexa nods sagely. “Mmhmm. And Bellamy, what does beer taste like?”

Bellamy purses his lips. “Wheat farts?”

Lexa holds her hands up. “Lesbians and gays of the jury, I rest my case. Five percent happiness juice trumps, as you so eloquently say, twelve percent fart juice.”

“I guess you’re right.”

“Anyway,” Lexa says, “there’s twelve bottles and four of us, so that’s three each.”

“I’ll donate one of mine,” Murphy says.

“Me, too,” Clarke says. “I just want a little buzz.”

Bellamy raises his bottle. “Cheers to all your charitable souls.”

Murphy struggles to open his, going red when Clarke asks, “Need any help there, Murph?”

He’s about to refuse, but she raises an eyebrow and he realizes she’s not teasing. He hands her the bottle. She twists at the cap, frowning. “Okay, that’s really on there.”

“Let me try,” Bellamy says. He, too, attempts to open Murphy’s lemonade, but after a moment he stops, shaking his hand out. “I have a pocket knife in the front pocket of my bag, see if that’ll help,” he says.

Murphy unzips the pocket and finds the knife and a small plastic baggie. He pulls both out. “Bell,” he says, grinning at its contents. “Did you know you have a blunt in here?”

Bellamy frowns over another sip of Mike’s. “What?”

Murphy holds up the plastic bag. Bellamy’s eyes widen. “That must be left over from the soccer championship,” he says, holding out his hand. Murphy gives it to him. “I got a couple to celebrate. I can’t believe this has been in my bag all that time.”

“It’s not very wise to leave drugs lying around in your bag,” Lexa points out.

“Lucky for us he did,” Clarke says, grinning. “ _Now_ it’s a party.”

They sit in a circle, passing the blunt around and drinking their lemonade. They end up listening to _Blue Neighborhood_ another three times (or is it more than that?), because somehow it’s the perfect soundtrack for spending a night getting baked with your three closest friends.

Murphy’s smoked with Clarke and Bellamy before but never with Lexa. Clarke gets handsy when she’s high, whether that means ruffling hair or downright stroking whatever part of your body is closest to her (arms, usually, but sometimes legs). Murphy stays clear of her once she’s had a couple hits. With Bellamy, weed only seems to enhance his normal personality; he’s a bit softer, laughs easier, smiles more. He does get a bit more physically affectionate, but not so much that it makes Murphy uncomfortable.

Lexa, though, Lexa seems to become a different person. She sings along to Troye but not in the loud, joking way she did in the car; she uses her genuine singing voice, which turns out to be soft and sweet and actually not bad at all. She dances, too, and soon she’s pulling Clarke up with her to dance along, all flailing limbs and swaying hips. 

Bellamy leans against Murphy and finishes his lemonade. Fingers intertwined, they watch the two girls dance around the room for a song or two. Then “COOL” fades into “HEAVEN” and Clarke pulls Lexa closer, foreheads touching, and they start to slow dance. Murphy looks away, feeling a bit self-conscious.

Bellamy looks at him, a small smile on his lips. “You wanna dance?” he asks.

Murphy wrinkles his nose. “No. Do you?”

Bellamy takes his hand and pulls him up.

“Dancing is dumb,” Murphy mutters, but Bellamy moves closer and pulls an arm around his waist and they start swaying together as the chorus begins to play.

“Is this okay?” Bellamy asks, soft. His eyes seem to glow, warm and familiar. Murphy nods, feeling a smile start to form as he rests his arms around Bellamy’s shoulders. Everything feels hazy in a nice way, a thoughtless way, an easy way. They stay like that, the four of them, two couples moving slowly in what feels like an endless moment.

Somewhere far away the song changes to the next, and the girls break apart to begin dancing normally again. Instead of letting go Bellamy pulls Murphy into a long hug, breathing deeply and squeezing just tight enough that it’s perfect. Overwhelmed, Murphy hugs him back.

“What was that?” he asks when Bellamy loosens his hold. Bellamy is blushing a bit, but he smiles easily.

“I just wanted to, that’s all.” Murphy looks at him curiously. “That was nice, you know. You wouldn’t go to prom with me,” he continues, looking embarrassed.

Murphy doesn’t connect the two together. He hadn’t wanted the attention of being one of the only same-sex couples at prom, nor was he interested in being so blatantly out in front of the whole school. Dressing up in an uncomfortable outfit just to be pushed around a too-crowded dance floor for a few hours wasn’t very appealing to him either. Further, the whole idea of the romanticism of prom—and what often happens after—made him too nervous to even consider it. “Sorry,” he says, though Bellamy had told him it was all right about four times.

“No, it’s just, that’s all I wanted,” Bellamy says. “To—to do that.”

It’s so abruptly intimate that a laugh seems to burst out of Murphy. “You just wanted to dance with me?”

Bellamy laughs too, giving him a gentle shove. “Yeah, I just wanted to dance with you.”

Murphy feels silly dancing, but he has just enough in his system that he’s loose enough to do it. “We can dance now.”

They don’t look good. Murphy is not coordinated in the slightest, and despite his agility on the soccer field Bellamy has none on the dance floor. But somehow it doesn’t matter. They move together, nottouching, to the beat—or maybe off the beat, Murphy can hardly tell—and they are graceless and clumsy and wonderful.

The night continues on in this way, dancing and drinking and feeling complete. They’re all starting to get a bit hungry after the weed, which makes Abby Griffin’s cookies taste even more like they were baked by Jesus himself. Clarke and Lexa eventually retire to their bed, but Bellamy and Murphy stay on the floor, at times simply standing together and sipping their hard lemonade.

“I think,” Murphy says, after what feels like an eternity of dancing, “I think prom would be over about now.”

“I think you’re right,” Bellamy says, swaying. “I think I’m a little bit drunk.”

“How many did you have?” Murphy asks, laughing. He puts his hands on Bellamy’s shoulders, steadying him. Lemonade isn’t really made to get drunk on. Bellamy has managed an extraordinary feat here.

Bellamy frowns, concentrating. His face is screwed up in such an endearing way that Murphy feels the urge to… something. He touches the place where Bellamy’s hair ends on the back of his neck.

“Four, maybe,” Bellamy says. “I wasn’t counting.”

“Since when are you a lightweight?” Murphy asks.

“Hmm.” Bellamy hums a few bars of “Drunk in Love” and Murphy laughs.

“Wanna sit down?”

“Yeah.” Murphy sprawls out on their bed and Bellamy follows, laying flat on his back.

“I’m so glad we did this. We need to get out of that crap town more often. We should have done this every year.”

“We’ve barely been hanging out for a year, dummy.”

“Should have hung out more then,” Bellamy amends.

True to his word, Murphy has only had two drinks, but his body feels light and his fingers are tingling pleasantly. He rests his head close to Bellamy’s. “I feel nice.”

Bellamy laughs, leaning toward him. “Me too.” He looks blissfully happy and Murphy can’t help but feel the same. Bellamy looks, for a fraction of a second, at Murphy’s mouth, and Murphy notices.

Murphy hesitates, glancing over at the other bed. Clarke and Lexa aren’t watching; in fact they’re mostly under the covers, busy in their own world of Clarke and Lexa. He feels so good, so relaxed, and in this moment, Bellamy looks like home. “Hey, Bell?” he says.

“Yeah?”

He smooths his hand over the back of Bellamy’s hair. “Just, um…” Murphy breathes out and kisses him.

If he’s quite honest with himself, the whole idea of kissing usually creeps him out a bit, but sometimes, under certain conditions—a large condition being Bellamy—it can be nice. Comfortable. And this is.

Bellamy smiles against his lips. Murphy can taste the lemonade on his tongue, sweet and sour at the same time. Murphy’s body seems to hum. Bellamy presses closer and Murphy becomes immediately hyperaware of everything around him; Bellamy’s lips and hands and body and as sudden as it started, it’s not comfortable anymore and all Murphy can feel is his skin start to crawl. He pushes Bellamy away, the split second of resistance scaring him even more.

“I don’t—um, Bellamy, I don’t want to anymore,” he whispers.

Bellamy blinks, his face changing to understanding, then something like discomfort. He breathes out, “Sorry.” A frown forms on his face. “I’m sorry, Murph. A-are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Murphy says, but he feels shaky, and worse, guilty. It had been fine. It was fine, they were only… and then it wasn’t fine. Why wasn’t it fine? Murphy shudders.

“Gimme a sec, okay?” Bellamy crawls off the bed and into the bathroom.

Murphy sits there for a moment, feeling like the ground’s just dropped out from under him. Not wanting to say anything, but _needing_ to, he says, “Clarke.”

There’s a disapproving grunt from the lump under the blankets that is clearly the tangled bodies of Lexa and her girlfriend. “ _Clarke_ ,” he says, urgently, and Clarke pops her head out from the blankets.

“You okay, Murph?”

He just looks at her, unable to answer properly, and Clarke slides off the bed to sit with him. Lexa pops up as well, looking disgruntled, and comes to join them.

“What’s up, babe?” Clarke nudges him with her shoulder.

Murphy feels his cheeks burning. “Nothing, he just, um. I kissed him, and then I just, um. Freaked out.”

He sees Lexa glance at Clarke. “I just feel like I’m not gonna be enough for him. If I can’t even… I mean, I just don’t want him to… get _bored_ with me.”

Clarke puts a hand on his shoulder. “I don’t think he feels like that at all,” she says. She’s using her wounded bird voice, but Murphy can’t feel too indignant because it always works. “If he minded, wouldn’t he say something about it?”

“Yeah, but what if he does want other stuff but he doesn’t want to upset me so he just keeps it all inside? What if I’m just making him… Making him _hide_ it?” He doesn’t want Bellamy to hide. Bellamy is the only person, save maybe Clarke, Murphy has ever been able to _not_ hide from. He would hate it, hate _himself_ , if that’s what he’s doing to Bellamy.

“I think if Bellamy wanted anything more he would tell you,” Lexa says. Her voice _always_ sounds like a wounded bird voice. “He loves you a lot.”

Murphy frowns at that word. He knows Bellamy _loves_ him. And he loves Bellamy too, but it feels stupid to say that because he’s only seventeen and young love is always cliche and stupid and why should theirs be any different?

“I just want to be enough for him.”

“Murph…” Bellamy’s voice comes from behind him, sad, and Murphy turns. If his face was hot before, it must be on fire now.

“Sorry,” Murphy says immediately.

“No, no, Murphy, it’s okay. _I’m_ really sorry.” Bellamy climbs onto the bed and Clarke and Lexa seem to slip away. “I shouldn’t have pushed you and I’m really sorry it made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” Murphy mumbles.

Bellamy touches his hand. “You are more than enough,” he says. “You are everything I ever wanted, okay? No more, no less.”

Murphy scrunches his nose. “I know it’s cheesy,” Bellamy says before Murphy can say it himself, “but I mean it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Clarke clears her throat. “So, are you two losers done with your _Fault in Our Stars_ spiel, or? We were kinda in the middle of lowkey-not-having-sex-in-front-of-our-best-guy-friends.”

“Yeah, we’re done,” Murphy says. He holds out his hand for Bellamy to take.

“Wanna take a walk while they…?” Bellamy asks. 

“Yes please.” They still have time in the night to make things better.

“ _THANK THE GODS!”_ Clarke yells at them as they shut the door.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	3. SATURDAY

The morning starts blurry. Murphy’s vision swims as he blinks his eyes open, staring at the harsh light uncomprehendingly until he feels a sudden jolt on the other side of the bed. Bellamy’s arm shoots out and grabs Murphy’s shoulder hard.

“Murph,” he says urgently. His breath smells awful. “What time is it?”

“Mmmph,” Murphy says, as he frowns and tries to focus on Bellamy’s face. “ _Claaarke_.”

“Uhhhggghh,” he hears from the other bed. “What.”

“Time is it?”

“Uhh… it’s like one o’clock.” Murphy hears her give a small laugh. “Holy fuck.”

Bellamy shoots up. “We missed breakfast!”

Murphy blinks. They’d missed breakfast by about five hours. Murphy’s not very hungry, though. He’s not hungover; he didn’t drink all that much, but he feels sluggish and heavy. “Sorry Bell.”

“It was free!” Bellamy insists.

“We still have tomorrow,” he says. “You’re talking so loud, shhhh.”

“Free breakfast,” Bellamy groans, and lays back down. His hair is a downright mess, half-stuck to the front of his face. He’s got an imprint of his pillow on his cheek.

Murphy drags his thumb over the imprint. He’s always a bit more touchy in the morning. “Hey,” he whispers.

Bellamy’s face softens, brown eyes staring into blue. “Hi.”

“You’re really that upset about breakfast?”

Bellamy laughs softly. “I wanted free bacon.” He reaches up to hold Murphy’s wrist.

“How are you doing?” he asks, searching. Murphy knows he must feel bad. He wishes Bellamy hadn’t heard him talking to Clarke, even if it was about something he’d been worried about for a long time. He could have found a better way to say it. He could have talked to Bellamy instead of his friend.

“I’m okay,” Murphy says. “Are you okay?”

Bellamy’s thumb glides across the underside of Murphy’s wrist. “About last night,” he begins.

Murphy pulls his arm back, hugging himself. “Not now, okay? Later.”

“Okay…”

“Just tired,” Murphy sighs. “And you stink.”

Bellamy huffs a laugh. “You’re not so hot yourself.”

“I,” Murphy says dramatically, “am _always_ hot.”

“I have no choice to agree,” Bellamy relents, and Murphy thinks if they were a normal couple they’d probably kiss now. Clarke and Lexa would kiss now.

Does Bellamy want to kiss now?

~ ~ ~

They drive downtown for lunch, having missed breakfast entirely. The downtown area is a nice little place, lined with colorful shops and places to eat. Bellamy parks the car and they walk around, surveying the streets with interest.

They pass a tattoo parlor, ironically named “Blind Faith Tattoos.” Clarke seems drawn to the window, looking at the artists’ portfolios in the windows. She looks almost like a little kid in a toy shop, but the toy shop is full of elaborate drawings of snakes coming out of skulls. “We should all get tattoos,” she says, sounding mesmerized. “Like a group tattoo!”

Bellamy looks amused. “Where do you think we’d get the money for that?” He points to a sign next to the portfolios which reads _$40 STARTING FEE_.

Clarke makes a face, sulking. “Well, it would still be cool.”

“What would we get, anyway? A big rainbow flag?”

“No, it would be something small and symbolic. Something cool,” Clarke says thoughtfully.

“The one hundred emoji.” Murphy grins. “Cos we’re always keepin’ it one hundred.”

“Laaame.”

“What about the four nation symbols from _Korra_? Bell would be Earth, Lexa would be Fire, Murphy would be Air, and I would be Water.”

“Why’d you give me Air? I’m not really a spiritual guy, if you haven’t noticed.”

Clarke frowns. “Okay, not perfect.”

“I’ve always…” Lexa starts, but goes quiet.

The other three look at her. “Always what?” Clarke prompts.

“No, you’ll just make fun of me.” Murphy doesn’t think he’s ever seen Lexa blush unless Clarke is flirting with her. This is new.

“We’ll be nice. Promise,” Clarke says, touching Lexa’s arm in reassurance.

“We do? We promise?” Bellamy asks. He gets an elbow in the ribs from Clarke. “ _Ow_. Fine, we promise.”

“I’ve always wanted… _aninfinitysignonmyneck_ ,” she says in a mumbled rush.

“What was that?”

Lexa sighs. “I want an infinity sign tattooed to the back of my neck. Happy?”

Clarke’s eyes widen a bit and she is clearly resisting a goofy grin when she says, “That’s not bad! That would be cute.”

Bellamy side-glances at Murphy as if to say, _are we_ really _not going to tease her about wanting a white girl infinity sign tattooed to her body?_ Murphy shrugs back, hiding a smile.

Carefully, he says, “What made you want an infinity sign, Lex?”

She looks embarrassed, but says, “I just like the idea a lot. It reminds me that we’re all connected, and we’re all in a cycle that will continue on until the end of time. It’s like the symbol for life.”

“I guess I can see that,” Bellamy says, nodding. Lexa smiles. “Maybe next time we’ll save up for tattoos.”

“Yes!” Clarke says. “Murphy should get a sleeve.”

“Okay, someone pull Clarke into reality so we can find something to eat,” Murphy says. It’s nearing two in the afternoon now, and they haven’t eaten all day.

“We passed a nice little bagel place on the way here,” Lexa says.

Bellamy points to a burger place in front of them. “What about this place? They have burgers.” By burgers, Murphy knows he’s referring to the sign that pictures an enormous hamburger and the words _BIGGER AND BETTER THAN EVER_.

Lexa makes a face. “I was thinking something light.”

Clarke nods, linking her arm with Lexa. “I really don’t want anything that big, Bell.”

Bellamy looks at Murphy. “Well? Whose team are you on?”

Murphy laughs and nudges Bellamy with his shoulder. “Yours, of course.” He doesn’t say _always_ , but it’s on the tip of his tongue.

“I guess it’s a date!” Clarke says, beaming as if she’d planned this all along. “We’ll see you two later. An hour?”

Bellamy offers his arm for Murphy to take. Murphy accepts it and they part ways with Clarke and Lexa, whose date seems to be starting with an unnecessarily public display of affection as they walk toward Lexa’s bagel shop.

The burger place Bellamy chose is a small, well-lit little diner with a 50s jukebox type of theme. The smell of burgers and fries is overwhelming. Murphy’s stomach rumbles when they step in. “I’m in heaven,” Bellamy whispers. He releases Murphy’s arm to thoroughly examine the menu, which is hand-painted above the front counter.

“They have,” Bellamy says, sounding choked, “a quarter-pound bacon deluxe with cheese fries.”

Murphy grins at seeing him like this. “Sounds gross,” he says, and gets nothing more than an elbow in the ribs for it.

“What do you what?”

Murphy examines the menu to find the most offensive thing possible. “Look at that,” he murmurs, pointing. “They have jumbo salads!”

“I know you’re joking but it still hurts,” Bellamy says, sticking his nose up. “What do you _really_ want?”

As hungry as he is, an enormous burger makes Murphy feel a little sick. “Milkshake and fries?”

“I thought you were hungry?”

“ _Lots_ of fries.” Murphy slips twenty dollars into Bellamy’s hand. “I’ll pay.”

“Ever the gentleman,” Bellamy says. “I knew I had a reason for dating you. Free food.”

A twenty-something-year-old girl in a poodle skirt and blonde hair piled high like Sandra Dee emerges from the back, bringing with her the even stronger smell of hamburgers. “What can I get for ya?” she asks. Her red lipstick is faded and smudged a bit. Murphy wonders how long she’s been working her shift.

Bellamy glances at Murphy, who’s already edging away. “I’ll find us a seat,” Murphy says. He hates ordering, he hates standing awkwardly around waiting for the food, and he hates paying. He always feels like he’s doing something wrong.

He chooses a two-person table near the window where they can see cars and people passing by outside. After a moment, Bellamy joins him with a tray and hands him a large carton of fries. They look like the good kind, too; thick and crispy and not some McDonald’s salt-filled bullshit. He bites one, burning the roof of his mouth, and nods slowly. “Yeeees. These are good.”

Bellamy smiles. “Good. See, aren’t you glad you chose me over bagels?”

Sometimes Bellamy says the strangest things. Murphy makes a face. “I’d choose you over a dumb old bagel any day.” He means it, but he still doesn’t like having to say it out loud. He looks around. “Wait, where’s my milkshake?”

“It’s coming,” Bellamy says. “They haven’t turned on the machine all day.”

“I guess we’re just special, then.”

The girl at the counter, who has since reapplied her lipstick to perfection, calls Bellamy’s name, pronouncing it Bell-Amy and frowning at the little slip of paper.

Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “I guess that’s me,” he says. Murphy snickers.

“That’s a fucking big milkshake, Bell,” Murphy says when Bellamy returns with a glass that more closely resembles a pitcher in size.

“It’s heavy, too.” Bellamy sets it down in front of him and sticks two straws in. “I thought we could share,” he says.

Murphy’s eyes widen and he barks out a laugh. “That’s almost _disgustingly_ cheesy,” he manages to say.

“You wanted a milkshake, I wanted a milkshake,” Bellamy says.

“Well, bring it over here, I want to try this fucking gay-ass milkshake.”

Bellamy’s smile disappears. “Oh, Murph… I’m sorry, I didn’t think about—”

Murphy sips the milkshake. Fuck, it’s good. It’s rich and homemade and _perfect_. “It’s okay,” he says. “I don’t mind this time.” He doesn’t. Bellamy knows Murphy hates PDA (the only PDA he tolerates is from Clarke and Lexa, because they’re his best friends and they’re admittedly adorable) and tries to avoid it as much as humanly possible. Murphy especially isn’t fond of people noticing that they’re two _boys_ , or worse, _commenting_ on it. It’s happened once or twice and it very nearly drove Murphy to break up with Bellamy, it messed him up so bad. But this time… he doesn’t mind. They’re far away from everyone else they’ve ever known in a 50s diner eating ridiculous amounts of junk food and Murphy doesn’t mind at all.

“Sure?” Bellamy asks. “You can have it all to yourself if you want.”

Murphy starts laughing at that too. “This milkshake is bigger than my _head_ , Bell.”

“All right, I guess I can help you out.”

“Just—god, just don’t drink out of it at the same time as me.” He’d never handle that level of gooeyness.

Bellamy laughs. “I won’t.”

~ ~ ~

After lunch they explore the shops in the area, all colorful and each showing off something different; toys and trinkets; handmade jewelry, clothes, and decorations; keychains and keepsakes galore; knives (“A _knife_ shop?” Murphy asks, and they go in and Bellamy shows him how to use a butterfly knife); rocks and shells. The place with the rocks and shells—Arty’s Rock Shoppe, it’s called—is the most interesting.

It’s literally that; a _rock_ shop. From wall to wall are baskets of rocks and minerals of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Each basket is carefully labelled by hand. They stroll around (the shop keeper greets them when they enter and Murphy all but hides behind Bellamy because he _hates_ dealing with shop keepers) examining the stones, laughing at the outrageous prices while still intrigued at the array.

Murphy points to a basket of large blue-gray stones. They’re about the size of a fist, and they’re $6.99 each. “Why are these so expensive?” he wonders, smoothing his palm over one. “They’re _rocks._ You can pick up rocks _anywhere_.”

Bellamy takes it from Murphy and examines. “I dunno. They're pretty? Maybe they're from Africa or something.” The sign doesn’t say the rocks are from Africa. They put them back and move on.

By the window are small little plants that resemble miniature aloe, and bowls of little shells.

Murphy feels drawn to a basket of red and white striped shells, smooth and the size of his thumb. _Peppermint-striped shells_ , the sign reads, _.99c_. The colors are so vibrant and rich he’s almost tempted to ask Bellamy if they’re real, but this sort of texture couldn’t be manufactured.

“Bell,” he says. Bellamy turns, eyebrows raised. “Look at these.”

He places one in Bellamy’s hand. He notices that their hands, together, look like the shells, light on dark on light. His hand lingers.

Bell smiles, looking puzzled. “What is it?” He inspects the shell, his hand moving away.

Murphy watches him, closing his hand and bringing it slowly back to his side. “I like them,” he says.

Bellamy rolls the shell in his hand. “They’re affordable,” he reasons.

Murphy cocks his head, reluctant and a bit self-conscious. “We’re not really going to spend our money on _shells_ , are we?”

Bellamy takes another shell and digs in his pocket with his other hand. He smiles bright and Murphy feels it in his chest, light and warm and illuminating. “You like them.”

It seems to pull something out of Murphy, something deep, and he smiles in a way he hasn’t in a long time. He wants to say something, to let Bellamy know, but he’s not sure what it could be. An impulsive _I love you_ almost escapes his mouth, but he swallows it down. He’s not sure what the right moment to say it is. He’s not sure he needs to say it, either, but right now… He _wants_ to.

Murphy clears his throat. “You’re paying?”

“My gift to you,” Bellamy says in his most gracious voice. He adds, “It’s only two bucks, Murph. I’ve got you.”

Seeing as he’d paid for lunch, Murphy lets Bellamy buy him the shell. He feels happy and silly all at once when they leave the shop, little red shell in hand.

They sit on a bench then. The beautiful blue sky is starting to cloud over, but they’re the strange type of clouds that cover the sun without making the sky darker. Murphy examines his shell in his palm. “What are we going to do with these?” he asks. He doesn’t usually buy keepsakes or trinkets. He prefers food, or music, or anything more useful than _shells_. He still likes them, though.

Bellamy shrugs, holding his shell close to Murphy’s. It’s rounder than Murphy’s, and a bit thicker, but the stripes mix the same, swirling to the center. “I like them, too.”

Murphy sticks his shell back into his pocket, careful not to crush it. “This was nice,” he says, looking up at the sky.

“It was.” Bellamy looks at him questioningly. “Why don’t we go on dates more?”

Murphy wrinkles his nose. “They’re… I dunno, Bell, they’re so… _official_. I just wanna spend time with you. I don’t want to have to call it a date.”

“I’ll call it whatever you want,” Bellamy says. Murphy can feel something cheesy coming on. “So long as I’m with you.”

Murphy groans at that, and Bellamy starts laughing. “Sorry, sorry, it was just _there_. You’re so easy.”

He’s right. Murphy’s blushing. “I don’t know why I put up with you,” he grumbles.

“Murph, it’s cos I buy you shells and giant milkshakes. You know that.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, sighing in resignation. “I know.”

Murphy holds out his hand for Bellamy to take. When Bellamy’s fingers intertwine with his, he squeezes. “I did like this one, though.”

“This what?” They’re walking now, toward the bagel shop. It’s been over an hour, and there’s thunder overhead.

“This date.” Murphy watches the smile form in a matter of seconds.

Bellamy is easy too.

~ ~ ~

Shortly after Murphy and Bellamy meet up with Clarke and Lexa it begins to rain. They scramble into Bellamy’s car and roll up the windows, out of breath and laughing. Murphy feels at peace watching the rain drops on the windshield (he’s finally managed to take over the front seat despite Clarke’s tyranny). The radio plays the perfect music for an almost-summer rain shower, cool and calm and peaceful.

“What now?” Bellamy asks when they return to the hotel. The rain comes to an abrupt stop seemingly minutes after they make it to their room, all a bit wetter than they’d hoped.

Clarke has already turned on the TV. “The answer to all our problems,” she says reverently. “ _Korra_ is still on!”

Murphy groans. “We’ve watched so much _Korra_ already, can’t we—” He stops abruptly, seeing the scene flash. “Is that Kuvira? Is this season four? Fuck, move over.”

Clarke laughs as he dives onto the bed next to her. “See, _everyone’s_ a slut for Kuvira. She’s the best villain in animated television history.”

“I’d date her,” Lexa says, shrugging.

Clarke makes a thoughtful face. “May the best gay win,” she says, offering Lexa a hand to shake. “Or…” She grins villainously, a look Kuvira would no doubt be happy with. “We could share her.”

Lexa goes pink and Murphy decides it’s probably best to get off their bed. “You’re both insatiable,” he says, only half-kidding.

“Scared you off?” Bellamy asks as Murphy joins him on their bed. He looks amused.

“They like Kuvira too much,” Murphy says, eyes wide. He settles easily next to Bellamy and leans into him when he feels Bellamy’s arm rest around him.

“Oh, I think we all like Kuvira too much,” Bellamy reasons. He gestures at the television screen as Kuvira and Korra get into a heated battle. “She’s sort of an asshole.”

“She’s not really date material,” Murphy muses. “More like take-over-the-world material.”

“Who’s date material on _Korra_?” Bellamy asks. “For you, I mean.”

Bellamy has a disturbing lack of jealousy when it comes to talking about attractive animated characters. He is also disturbingly candid about which animated characters he finds attractive.

“Who’s yours?” Murphy asks, wanting longer to decide.

“Mako. Obviously. He’s got great hair and he has the perfect level angst for me to be into it.” Murphy can’t help but feel like Bellamy is suggesting he’s “into” Murphy’s so-called “angst.”

“I’d date Bolin,” Murphy says finally. “He’s the ultimate boyfriend material. He’s nice and funny and adorable. And he loves food.” That sounds like Bellamy. Oh god.

“And he looks _really_ good in that Earth Empire uniform,” Bellamy supplies.

“Yeah. He does.”

Afternoon fades into evening as they barrel through the final season of _Korra_ , and Murphy stayscomfortably tucked against Bellamy’s chest the whole way through. It feels good, just being near each other. Natural. This is what he had wanted the night before. He feels Bellamy sigh against him and shift his body slightly.

“I’m starving,” Clarke says when they finally finish debating the end of _Korra_ and how the creators could have made it better (namely by adding a kiss between Korra and Asami). She stretches her arms and yawns, catlike. “What are we doing for dinner?”

“There’s a bunch of restaurants nearby,” Bellamy says. “We could walk over and find something to eat there.”

Murphy takes his wallet out and counts. He’s got about $50—enough for a restaurant dinner, but not if they want to eat on the way home. “I don’t think we have the money for that. Clarke, anything?”

“I’m saving my money for gas. Lexa?”

“I supplied the alcohol,” Lexa says. “My role has been fulfilled.”

Bellamy sighs. “We’re gonna end up eating some gross cheap-o food, aren’t we?”

“I think the hotel had one of those mini convenience stores in the lobby, too,” Murphy says. “We could check there.”

“Yes! I checked that out last night,” Clarke says. “They have Hot Pockets!”

Bellamy groans. “Oh my god.”

“No, they have good flavors, trust me. Let’s go.”

The four of them endure an elevator ride with a tall woman who glares at them like she knows they’re up to something. Clarke flashes the woman her adult-est smile. “Hi,” she says, nodding awkwardly.

The woman gives her a tight-lipped smile in response. When the elevator doors open she exits as quickly as humanly possible. “I think we scared her off with all our gay energy,” Clarke says. “Come on—onward to the Hot Pockets!”

It turns out that by “good flavors” Clarke actually means they have two: Pepperoni and Chicken Jalapeño, and none of them are prepared to eat spicy food with nothing to drink and all sharing one bathroom. They heat their pockets in the microwave in the lobby and hurry to the elevator with burning fingers.

And isn’t it just their luck that both elevators are full the second they urgently need a lift? “Fuuuck,” Murphy groans, juggling his dinner between his hands. “The skin on my hands is literally melting. It’s melting off.”

“Stairs,” Lexa says. “Quick.”

They scramble up the three flights of stairs to their floor. Instead of stopping at the door, Bellamy keeps going up to the next flight.

“Bellamy!” Clarke hisses. “We’re on the third floor.”

“Oh, right,” he says. “Wait.”

“Bell, I swear to god if I don’t have hands by the end of this, I’m breaking up with you,” Murphy growls.

“Wait, come up here!”

Murphy grits his teeth. “I’ll go get the _lunatic_ ,” he grinds out. “Go save yourselves. Pray for my poor scalded hands.”

His hands are beginning to feel numb to the heat, anyway. He climbs the next set of stairs to the top floor. “What the fuck are you doing, Bell?”

Bellamy, as if to prove he’s absolutely mad, is already eating his Hot Pocket, which probably means he no longer has a functioning tongue. “They have a door to the roof,” he says.

“So what?”

“We should go out there. It’s a really nice night.”

Murphy’s Hot Pocket is either cooling down, or the nerves in his hands have officially evaporated. “Bell, come on. Don’t you wanna watch cartoons and talk about sexuality? That was fun, wasn’t it?” A _Steven Universe_ marathon is now on. It seems that cartoon marathons are all the rage these days.

“We did that _last_ night. Didn’t you want an adventure?”

“ _Uggghhhh_.”

Bellamy grins, knowing Murphy’s convinced. “Fine, you go up. I’ll go get Clarke and Lexa.”

“Be quick!” Bellamy says, and he disappears out the door to the roof. Murphy half expects an alarm to sound, but it doesn’t.

“Bell has decided we’re all going to eat dinner on the roof,” Murphy announces when he returns to the room. Clarke and Lexa are already curled up on the bed, nibbling at their Hot Pockets. He’s all but forgotten about his. He takes a bite, which starts out okay but ends with him panting because, goddamn it, the fucking thing is still too hot for him to eat.

“Come on, he’ll be waiting.”

Clarke grumbles something and pulls Lexa off the bed, holding her Hot Pocket carefully to avoid spilling on the sheets. Lexa gives hers to Clarke. “I’m bringing blankets,” she says, rolling up the fleeces they’d packs from home. “It’s probably freezing outside.”

Murphy hears banging on the door to the roof once they climb back up the stairs the stairs. He pushes it open, frowning.

Bellamy looks back at him, flushed. “Uh… the door locked,” he says, eyes wide. “You were taking forever.” He rubs his arms and grins. “Anyway. Come out.”

“You _still_ want to eat on the roof?”

Bellamy shows him his empty Hot Pocket wrapper. Murphy rolls his eyes. He’s beginning to think his Hot Pocket must contain some sort of nuclear power source. “It’ll be fine,” Bellamy reassures him. “I found a rock we can use to prop open the door.”

They follow Bellamy out onto the roof and into the cool night air. Back home in the suburbs, they rarely see any stars because of the nearby power plant gunking up the sky with god-knows-what, but _here_ …

Murphy doesn’t think he’s even seen a more beautiful night. The sky is so clear it almost looks surreal. Although he’s seen pictures, he never knew there were so many stars in the sky. Clarke seems to have the same idea. “God,” she says, her voice filled with awe. “I swear I’ve never seen this many stars in my life.”

They spread out one of Lexa’s blankets on the cement (“See, I told you all this would come in handy, it’s all _wet_!”) and lay down in a row, taking it all in. Murphy’s Hot Pocket finally cools down, and he manages to eat his dinner underneath the stars.

“They’re so beautiful,” Lexa says next to him. On Murphy’s other side, Bellamy nods in silent agreement. She’s not wrong; the sky has never seemed more majestic. But Murphy always felt strange about stars, knowing they’re just illusions of space and time and light.

“Do you ever think about how all the stars we see in the sky have already burnt out?”

“Way to kill the mood, Murph.”

“No, seriously. Isn’t it just kind of funny? Like… yeah, they’re really beautiful. But in the time it’s taken for their light to travel across the galaxy and enter our field of vision, they’ve already died out. We’re literally looking at the images of dead stars.”

“Like ghosts,” Lexa says.

“Not ghosts,” Bellamy says. “They’re like photographs. Memories of stuff that happened a long time ago. It’s like looking at old photos of your parents when they were kids.”

Clarke groans. “You’re all just morbid weirdos.”

“But you love us.”

“Ugh. I _tolerate_ you, is what I do…” Clarke trails off. “Hey… I think I just saw a shooting star,” she says, pointing vaguely at something in the sky.

“It was probably a plane.”

“Don’t shit on my party, Murphy.”

“Plane or no plane, we have to make a wish,” Lexa says. “Just in case.”

“I wish we had more Mike’s,” Clarke says. “Then this would be a real camp-out.”

“I wish it were warmer,” Lexa says, rubbing her arms. “It’s so nice out, but it’s _cold_.”

“I’ve got you, babe.” Clarke spreads the other blanket over her. Lexa snuggles closer to Clarke as Murphy pulls the blanket up around him and over Bellamy. “Wish granted.”

“I wish we had more money,” he says. “No offense to Hot Pockets, but a dinner in a restaurant would have been kinda nice.”

“Off with his head,” Clarke mumbles, yawning. “How dare you denigrate the sanctity of the Hot Pocket.”

Lexa laughs next to him. Murphy shivers. He’s cold from the night, but warm at the same time, feeling the bodies of his closest friends radiating around him. For one small instant, he feels like nothing is wrong in the world. It feels like it’s just the four of them together. All he can think about is how he doesn’t want this feeling to end.

“Murphy?” The three of them turn to him at him expectantly.

He hesitates, not wanting to confess his thoughts in case they make fun of him. “I wish… I wish this road trip could last forever.”

For a moment, no one says anything. Murphy feels Lexa pat his hand, and in that moment the contact isn’t unwelcome. He can hear her smile as she says, “That’s a good one.”

Feeling the need to contrast his uncharacteristic slip of emotion, he says, “I guess it’s kinda dumb. Nothing lasts forever.”

Bellamy elbows him. “Don’t ruin it. That was a good wish.”

“Maybe nothing lasts forever,” Clarke says, “but doesn’t it feel like we could pretend? Just for tonight? I mean… we’re all here. We have all night. We still have tomorrow.”

Bellamy threads his fingers through Murphy’s. They lay there in silence, the four of them, staring into an endless sky full of dead stars, and it really does feel like the world is just them, all an extension of the others. They seem to breathe together—four kids, one heartbeat. 

“I love you guys,” Lexa says quietly. “I’m really glad I met you all.”

“Aw, babe.” Murphy hears Clarke give her girlfriend a quick kiss. “I’m really glad too. I don’t know what high school would be like without you losers in my life.”

“You probably would have better grades,” Murphy says.

“I get straight A’s!” Clarke sounds indignant.

“Ah, but… did I hear straight A _pluses_? No, I don’t think so. The reality is, Clarke, we’re holding you back. Friendship is for suckers.”

Bellamy laughs. “Tell them you love them, asshole.”

“All right,” Murphy sighs. “I love you guys, or whatever. Thank you, Lexa, for making this whole thing all gushy and gross.”

“Wouldn’t be a real camp-out without it,” she replies. “Bellamy, I believe you have yet to confess your love for us.”

“I love you,” Bellamy says, and Murphy feels him squeeze his hand. His heart suddenly feels like a jackhammer. He can feel his palms start to sweat, but Bellamy continues, “I love you, one and all.”

“Satisfactory,” Lexa says, “but a bit impersonal.”

Bellamy clears his throat dramatically, lifting his arm in a sweeping gesture. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?”

“Save the Shakespeare, nerd,” Clarke says, groaning as she lifts herself off the ground. “We know you love us. Come on, it’s getting cold. Anyone want to go back to the room and warm up?”

“I’ll go,” Lexa says. “I’m freezing.” Clarke offers her a hand and pulls her up.

“Coming?” Clarke asks.

Bellamy glances at Murphy. He shrugs. “We’ll be down in a few minutes,” Bellamy says.

The couple leaves, propping the door open behind them. (Murphy watches them to make sure of this; he wouldn’t put it past Clarke to trap them up there just to get some quality time with Lexa.)

Bellamy sighs, his breath rising up in faint clouds in the cold. “I get what you meant,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind just staying here forever.”

“Yeah.” He doesn’t know what else to say.

“Are you cold?” Bellamy asks.

“A little.”

Bellamy pulls the blanket around him and shifts closer.

“Are _you_ cold?”

“I’m all right.”

Their arms are touching and Murphy can feel Bellamy breathing in and out, slow and steady. He tries to find words to fill the silence but none come.

“I’m really sorry about last night,” Bellamy says. “I got a little carried away.”

Murphy doesn’t want to think too much about it. “It’s okay. It just freaked me out a little.”

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t want to freak you out. I was just surprised, I guess, because you don’t normally… We don’t normally kiss that much.” _At all_. They’ve kissed twice in the six months they’ve been together; once when they were both really drunk and they were sitting so close together it barely counted as more than brushing lips—that had been Murphy’s first kiss; and once more when Bellamy hadkissed him again a few days later and Murphy had explained that he wasn’t really interested in kissing, and further, he didn’t really like it that much.

“I know.”

Bellamy purses his lips. “You don’t have to do anything with me that you don’t want to, Murph. You know that, right?”

“I wanted to. At least, I wanted to when I started. And then I just… didn’t anymore.” Murphy blushes. “I’m okay now.”

“Okay.” Bellamy rolls over, facing him. “Are you sure?”

Murphy shifts too, looking at the bridge of Bellamy’s nose instead of his eyes because he’s afraid of the rawness he’ll find there.

“I’m okay, Bell.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t feel bad, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Are you feeling bad?”

Bellamy laughs. “A little. I prefer not to freak you out.”

Murphy likes the way Bellamy’s nose wrinkles when he laughs. “I forgive you. I’m not freaked out anymore.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

They’re quiet for a moment. “Bell, do you ever… _want_ to?” He looks at Bellamy’s eyes now, needing to know.

Bellamy smiles in a strange way. “Kiss you?” Murphy nods. “Yeah, I want to kiss you sometimes.”

“Oh.” His heart seems to grow cold. “I’m sorry.”

“Murph, there’s nothing to apologize for. My wanting to kiss you sometimes doesn’t mean you’re not enough. I really want you to know that,” Bellamy says. “You’re so enough. I don’t know how else to say it. I don’t _need_ to kiss you to feel like…” He trails off.

“To feel like…?”

“To feel like you’re a part of me,” he whispers.

_Oh_. Murphy finds his hand again and squeezes, fingers cool.

“Anyway, kissing isn’t what makes a good relationship,” Bellamy says. “My ex was a great kisser and she was an asshole.”

“ _That_ makes me feel better,” Murphy grumbles.

“No, no, Murph. We’re… it’s almost like we’re beyond that stuff. I get you, and you get me. We don’t need to do anything about it, we just… we _know_.”

Murphy straightens. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah? Good. You don’t have to worry about kissing or anything like that. I like you just the way you are.” Bellamy smiles. It’s still cold out—too cold for late May—but Murphy feels warm just looking at Bellamy’s smile. God, that was a stupid thing to think. He should say something.

“Hey Bell?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you, y’know. I just don’t say it, like you said. But… you _know_. Right?”

He laughs. “I know. Of course I know, Murph.”

“Okay. Good.”

“I love you too.”

Murphy’s mouth stretches into an irrepressible smile. “Yeah, I know too. You say it a lot.”

“No I don’t,” Bellamy says, looking confused. Murphy can see a faint blush on his freckled cheeks. “I only say it on special occasions. Lest I… freak you out.”

Murphy thinks about all the late-night-into-early-morning phone conversations; the times Bellamy has personally escorted him out of his cold, dead house into the warmth of his own; the adventures they’ve been on together, like this one; the unquestioning respect for Murphy’s boundaries and the careful sensitivity to Murphy’s feelings; the quiet support and the steady, calm voice. “Nah, I think you make it pretty clear.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~


	4. SUNDAY

Bellamy’s alarm is a Hozier song, and granted, it is a really good Hozier song, but Murphy is very unhappy to be hearing it at eight a.m. The alarm is also set to be incredibly loud.

Murphy groans loudly.

Bellamy doesn’t move. Hozier continues to blast. Murphy hopes for a moment that maybe his eardrums might stop working, but unfortunately for him they continue working perfectly and the alarm goes on.

“Where is your fucking phone, Blake?” Clarke growls from the other bed.

“It’s by the door.” Bellamy’s voice is rough and Murphy smiles despite the alarm. He likes Bell’s voice in the morning.

Clarke, who apparently does not care about Bellamy’s morning voice, lets out a frankly terrifying screech. “ _SHUT IT OFF._ ”

Bellamy extricates himself from Murphy’s grasp (he hadn’t realized his arms were not only wrapped around Bellamy’s waist but his legs were curled around Bellamy’s like some sort of ivy) and drags his feet over toward the door.

The alarm doesn’t stop.

“ _Bellamy_ ,” Clarke says. She sounds absolutely livid.

“I mean, since you’re all awake, you might as well—”

“Don’t. Make me. Come over there.”

The alarm stops.

Bellamy walks gingerly back to the bed, brushing Murphy’s arm and giving him a gentle shake. “So, we’re all getting breakfast, right? It’s—”

Clarke whips her head up from her pillow. “I swear to fucking god if you say it’s free I’m going to detach your head from your body.”

Bellamy’s eyes widen and he gives Murphy a look. “Who woke her up on the wrong side of the bed?” he whispers.

“I don’t think that’s the phrase,” Murphy says, quiet. “And _you_ did.”

“ _You’re_ coming to breakfast with me, right?”

Murphy has no interest in moving at the moment, but Bellamy’s pleading puppy face is making quite an argument against him. Murphy sighs and buries his face in his pillow one last time. “Yeah, I guess I’ll get breakfast with you, dummy.”

Bellamy grins. “Come on.”

They leave the room quietly and get onto the elevator. The same tall woman from the night before is there, wearing a gray suit and holding a briefcase. Both of them are still in their t-shirts and baggy pajama bottoms (Bellamy had been too excited about bacon to change and Murphy was too lazy), and Murphy feels severely underdressed and a bit on display.

Bellamy smiles at her. “Hi again.”

Instead of smiling back, this time the woman just lets out a small sigh and stares determinedly at the elevator doors as though willing them to open, enabling her to make her escape. As the doors open and she clicks briskly away on pointy heels, Murphy wonders what made her so averse to exchanging neighborly greetings with teenagers. Maybe it’s the fact that she has to wear a suit and heels to work. Or maybe she can sense their Gay and she doesn’t like it. Either way, Murphy’s glad he won’t have to see the lady again after today.

They’re not the first ones to breakfast, considering it opened an hour before (Bellamy knew better than to wake Murphy up at _seven_ a.m.), but they seem to be close to the only ones in the breakfast area. 

Murphy can’t remember the last time his breakfast consisted of any sort of hot food. They have a _waffle maker_. Murphy has three waffles drenched in syrup. 

“Slow down, Murph. Don’t give yourself a sugar high when we’re going to be packed into a car for four hours,” Bellamy scolds. Murphy adds more just to spite him. Bellamy just laughs and shakes his head.

And Bellamy, true to his word, eats all the bacon remaining in the dining area; of course, there wasn’t an absurd amount left and it was quickly replenished. He seems to glow. “You really wanted that fucking bacon, didn’t you?” Murphy asks, amused. Murphy knows Bellamy has bacon at home. Maybe it’s just the novelty of eating bacon he hadn’t prepared himself.

“Free,” Bellamy grunts between bites.

Murphy steals a strip from his plate. Bellamy watches him through narrowed eyes, but allows him to take it. Hmm. Bellamy must really love him if he’s willing to part with his bacon for Murphy’s sake, because Bellamy really loves bacon. 

_Free_ bacon, no less.

Clarke and Lexa join them later, also in their pajamas. Neither has fixed their hair, and they look frankly ridiculous with it sticking up every which way, but they don’t seem to mind, even when Murphy teases them a bit.

They stay in the breakfast area for about an hour, starting to get self-conscious when more and more adults come down to eat fully dressed. Murphy is still wearing Bellamy’s pajama bottoms and he feels like somehow they’ll all _know_. He tries to ignore it. He should learn to stop caring. He _likes_ Bellamy’s pajama bottoms.

“This is our last day,” Lexa says as she eats her second orange. She peels it in one long, winding strip that she places neatly on her plastic plate.

Murphy frowns. The weekend had been so good; exactly what he’d needed. They’d talked and sang and hung out and gotten so much closer. As great as this has been, he feels like going back will somehow make everything snap back to the way they were before the weekend. He’s not looking forward to starting all over with the same routine again.

Bellamy shakes his head. “Oh, come on. It’s the last day of the _road trip_. ‘Last day’ sounds like we’re all dying or something.”

Clarke, not usually a very dark presence in their group, says, “This might be our last day like _this_ , though.”

They look at her, questioning. “I mean, think about it,” she says. “Finals are in a few weeks. Bell, Lex… you’re going to be _graduating_ soon. We’re not going to be able to skip school together much longer. It’ll be…”  
“Different,” Murphy finishes. Clarke and Murphy will be alone next year. Bellamy will be heading to the local college downtown, but Lexa will be going off to a private university an hour away. Murphy feels a bit like something is unraveling.

Bellamy gives Clarke a look and puts his hand on Murphy’s shoulder. “You’re all drama queens. We’re _best friends_. We’re like Team Avatar.” Murphy snorts at that, but Bellamy continues. “It doesn’t have to be the same to be good. We’re stuck together. Lex and I will still be around next year and we can all skip school together still.”

Lexa nods. “Yes. And we can always go on another road trip. This was exactly what we all needed.” She pauses. “ _Provided_ we actually plan the next one out.”

Clarke laughs, bashful. “Deal.”

~ ~ ~ 

They return from breakfast feeling very self-satisfied, after stealing an armful of fruit and a half-dozen pastries in what Bellamy calls “getting our money’s worth” and what Clarke calls “taking advantage of this fine establishment.” Either way, they’re well-stocked for the journey home.

Home. It sounds funny as they organize the room, collecting bottle caps off the floor and straightening the bed sheets. After two days spent in such a warm haven, this hotel room feels more like home than the ones they’re returning to, with cold houses and absent mothers and the crushing mundanity of daily routines.

“We’re gonna go grab some coffee downstairs before we leave,” Clarke says, breaking Murphy from his thoughts. “Want anything?”

“More bacon,” Bellamy says. He’s brushing his teeth already.

Clarke purses her lips. “I’m gonna take that as a no.” She follows Lexa out of the room, shutting the door too-loud behind them.

Murphy changes into his jeans and a fresh t-shirt. He folds up Bellamy’s pajamas and puts them in a pile. “Thanks for letting me borrow these,” he says when he returns them.

Bellamy takes them and packs them away. “I like when you wear my clothes,” Bellamy says, thencoughs awkwardly as if he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Murphy goes red. “Why?”

Bellamy clears his throat. “I, uh. No, it’s gonna sound weird.” He’s blushing.

Now Murphy has to know. “No, why?”

“It’s like,” Bellamy says, fingers on Murphy’s shirt sleeve, “it’s like you’re, um. Mine.”

Murphy makes a face. “See, I told you it sounds weird,” Bellamy says. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Murphy laughs. “I like wearing your clothes.” He doesn’t say, _I like being yours_.

“Mm, why?” Bellamy looks like he wants to turn the tables on him, but Murphy won’t let him.

“I like stealing your things. It’s like I’m a spy infiltrating your life.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Oh, really.”

Murphy relents. “They’re always soft and they smell like you. It’s kind of like… it’s like wearing a hug.”

Bellamy laughs, sounding surprised. “Now _you’re_ being cheesy.” He smooths Murphy’s shirt sleeve down and folds his arms across his chest. “Anyway, relationships aren’t about possession. They’re about mutual trust and love and support. You’re not really _mine_. That’s… that’s weird.”

Murphy smirks. “Want to switch shirts and tell me that again?”

Bellamy isn’t usually so easy to embarrass, but now he’s blushing harder. “We’re _each other’s_. You know what I meant.”

“Ohh, I think I know perfectly well what you meant, you fiend.”

Bellamy shoves him gently. “Shut up, Murph.”

“You love me.”

“Yeah, I do,” Bellamy sighs. “Even if you’re a spy.”

“Oh, I’m definitely a spy,” Murphy says. “A spy who likes _Legend of Korra_ and feeding ducks and stealing your clothes.”

“That’s the best kind of spy, after all.”

“Your favorite kind, you mean.”

Bellamy laughs, eyes bright. “Yeah, Murphy. You’re my favorite kind of spy.”

~ ~ ~

They check out soon after and load their bags into the car. Murphy blatantly refuses to help once Clarke brings her stuff down. He sits in the front passenger seat and locks the door; he’s sitting next to Bellamy this time if he has to fight his way onto the seat.

“You didn’t call shotgun,” he mocks.

Clarke just laughs and shakes her head. “You can have him,” she says as she climbs into the back seat next to Lexa. “I’m not even remotely interested.”

“I feel like this war for the front seat has become into an ‘insult Bellamy’ competition,” Bellamy complains. “I’m the real victim in all of this.”

“I’ve got you now,” Murphy says, patting him gently on the shoulder. “I promise I’ll only insult when it’s absolutely necessary.”

“What would I do without you,” Bellamy deadpans. “Okay, is everyone ready to go?”

_No_ , Murphy thinks, but he smiles at Bellamy and shrugs. “Ready as ever.”

“Are we doing our playlists again?” Clarke asks the moment Bellamy turns onto the highway.

“Noooooo,” Murphy says. “We listened to the Troye Sivan album like nine times this weekend.”

“I have—”

“Please stop before you take out your Taylor Swift CD,” Murphy says, “because nobody wants to hear it.”

Clarke sticks her tongue out. “You loved it the first time.”

“The _first_ time. We can only take so much.”

“What do you suggest then?” Lexa asks.

“You all got to play your shit on Friday and then time _conveniently_ ran out and _my_ choice was left in the dust. We’re listening to _my_ music today,” Murphy says, and he grins when he hears Clarke groan.

“Tell me it’s not all death metal and emo angst.”

“You hurt me,” Murphy says, feigning distress. “I’ll keep it vanilla for your sake, Clarke.”

Clarke grumbles something about being called ‘vanilla,’ but she doesn’t protest any further to Murphy’s music. He puts on his summer playlist, which despite repeating “Summerboy” by Lady Gaga a couple times more than necessary, is a pretty universally good playlist, both for summer and ending a roadtrip.

The drive doesn’t feel half as long on the way back. Time seems to fly by, and when they stop for lunch they’re already halfway home.

“We’ve got time to kill,” Bellamy says as he positively soaks his chicken McNuggets in barbecue sauce.

Clarke watches him with a disgusted face. “I don’t know how you can eat that,” she mumbles, frowning.

“De-licious,” Bellamy proclaims, sucking sauce off his thumb.

“You know the stuff that goes into making those nuggets? Pink sludge and animal cruelty.”

“You’re not even a vegetarian, get off your soapbox and join the rest of us horrible human beings down in reality,” Bellamy retorts.

“At least I got a salad!” To her credit, Clarke had gotten a salad, but it’s a chicken caesar salad, so her point is hardly valid.

Murphy points this out. “All right, fine,” Clarke says, rolling her eyes. “Okay, I’m horrible too.”

“It’s almost like your problem is with me and not the nuggets,” Bellamy says, eyes glinting with laughter he doesn’t dare let loose lest Clarke murder him in the middle of McDonald’s.

“I think my problem is your overuse of barbecue sauce,” Clarke grumbles. “Like, why is that necessary?”

Bellamy coats another nugget in sauce. Clarke glares at him. He throws his hands in the air, eyes wide. “What? What do you want from me? They’re _good_ with barbecue sauce!”

“Want a flurry?” Lexa says finally. She’s been watching the conversation unfurl with a look of mild amusement which quickly turned into exasperation.

“McFlurry.”

She flares her nostrils. “Want one?”

“I could do with a McFlurry,” Murphy says.

“Clarke?”

“Hmm?” She’s still glowering at Bellamy. “Yeah, sure.”

“Bell?”

“I’m good,” he says cheerfully. “I’ve got my nuggets.”

“Oh, _god_ ,” Clarke says. “I’ll come with you, Lex. I’m tired of this yahoo.”

“Hey,” Bellamy begins, but the couple gets up to get in line.

“You have to provoke her like that?” Murphy asks. He doesn’t mind, but he thinks it’s funny how competitive they can get.

Bellamy holds his hands up. “I’m not provoking her! This is how I eat chicken nuggets! You can ask Octavia!”

“Bet it annoys the fuck out of her, too.”

Bellamy laughs. “Yeah…”

Murphy, who’d ordered a cheeseburger, had finished a long time ago. He watches Bellamy drench another nugget. “Okay, give it here,” he says finally.

Bellamy looks at him. “What?”

“Give me the nugget, I’m gonna try it.”

Bellamy hands him the nugget delicately and sucks the sauce off his fingers. “Ew,” Murphy says.

“What?”

“I just realized your fingers were all up in your mouth.”

“Murphy, we share food all the time.”

“Yeah but. Ew.”

“Is my mouth that gross?”

“Yes,” Murphy says, but he bites into the nugget. He makes a face immediately. “Oh my god, Bell.”

“What? It’s good, right?”

“No, it’s… Bell. This is fucking disgusting.” Murphy can barely bear to chew the bite in his mouth. It’s soggy and slimy and… fuck, not worth it. He puts the nugget back in Bellamy’s hand and grimaces. “Take it back, this is gross.”

Bellamy pulls a face, but takes the nugget back and finishes it. “You’re all just weird, that’s all. This is delicious.”

“No, you’re just a yahoo,” Murphy grumbles, wiping his fingers off on a napkin, like a _person_.

“You still love me, right?”

Murphy sighs, seeing the girls returning with an armful of McFlurries. “Yes, Bellamy,” he says, “You’re my favorite yahoo.”

~ ~ ~

Murphy has a sinking feeling in his stomach when they turn off the highway and into their town. He fingers the striped shell in his pocket and seems to stop breathing. They go to Clarke’s house first, closest to the highway. Abby does not come out to greet them, suggesting there was a call from work and she was needed despite it being a Sunday.

Bellamy and Murphy help the girls unload. Lexa’s duffel bag, sans the illegal alcohol, is now a reasonable weight. They stand on Clarke’s front porch step, wistful.

“This was the best weekend I’ve ever had,” Clarke says finally, and throws her arms around Bellamy and Murphy both. Lexa quickly joins her and somehow they’ve gone from four separate entities to one big ball of love. Bellamy’s arm is wrapping around Murphy’s waist; Clarke’s arm is around his neck; Lexa’s hand rests gently against his back. Murphy grins in spite of himself.

They stay there for what feels like a long time, until Clarke grunts. “Are we going to let go now? I wasn’t intending to permanently fuse with the rest of you.”

They untangle quickly, smiling to themselves. “See you tomorrow,” Bellamy says, but it sounds strange. Tomorrow will be strange, too, knowing it’s back to business as usual. Lexa smiles at them like she notices the strangeness, but they don’t speak any further. Murphy follows Bellamy back to the car.

“I’m assuming you don’t want to go home?” Bellamy asks as they drive away. He sounds careful.

Murphy shakes his head. He feels almost hollow.

“You can stay the night again. Just for school tomorrow.”

Murphy’s cheeks heat. “Thanks, Bell.”

Bellamy’s house is unceremoniously unchanged, though both Bellamy and Murphy feel very different. The normality of walking into the kitchen is not unpleasant, but Murphy feels himself sag. They’re back, and it’s over now, the whole thing. Tomorrow they’ll carry on with their normal routines, as if nothing had happened in the first place.

“How was your trip?” Octavia asks. She’s typing furiously on her laptop, but she glances up to hear their response.

“It was really good,” Bellamy says, and looks at Murphy. It doesn’t feel like something that they can explain. It _was_ really good, but _more_ than that; it was nothing short of perfect. 

And it’s over now.

“Well, good,” Octavia says. “Now leave me alone, I’m coding.”

“Raven’s been teaching her,” Bellamy says, his hand on the small of Murphy’s back as he all but steers Murphy away. “Better leave her alone. She gets intense about it.”

They sit together on Bellamy’s bed. Murphy studies Bellamy’s jaw. For a long while they are silent, motionless, until finally Bellamy sighs and collapses back on the bed. “What do you want to do?”

Murphy shrugs, pushing Bellamy aside a bit so he can lay next to him. He fingers the drawstring of his sweatshirt. “I feel like we’re just sort of… waiting for something.”

“Me too,” Bellamy says, “but I’m not sure what.”

The question is answered moments later when Bellamy soon gets a phone call. He sits up and laughs when he sees the name. _Clarke_ , he mouths to Murphy, answering the phone. “What’s up, Clarke? Murphy’s on speaker.”

“So is Lexa.” A sigh crackles through the phone.

“Missed us too much?” Murphy jokes.

Clarke laughs. “Actually, we did,” Lexa says sincerely. Murphy can hear the smile in her voice.

He makes a face. “I guess we kind of miss you too,” he says.

There’s a long silence. “It’s only four o’clock,” Clarke says.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, and we thought…” Clarke laughs. “God, why does this feel so weird? I feel like I’m asking you out.”

“We thought we could meet up by the old playground,” Lexa says, taking over for her girlfriend. “Just before we go to school tomorrow.”

“My mom made us cookies for when we got back and it didn’t feel right to eat them without you,” Clarke adds.

Warmth fills Murphy’s chest. He grins inadvertently at Bellamy, who seems to be echoing his emotions. “We’ll meet you there in ten,” he says, and hangs up the phone.

Murphy pulls on his sweatshirt as Bellamy grabs his keys off his dresser. Bellamy offers Murphy his arm. “Ready to go?”

“Geronimo,” Murphy says.

~ ~ ~

The old playground used to be a place where kids went after school when Murphy was little. He has vague memories of having climbing battles here with a two-foot-tall Bellamy Blake (Murphy’s never told him that, because Bellamy doesn’t remember much about their fleeting childhood friendship). Clarke came here too, when she was little, but Murphy has no memories of her. Since they’ve grown up, the playground has become abandoned due to the fact that it’s actually a pretty crappy playground, and that a new one was built closer to the elementary school a few years ago.

Murphy and Bellamy sit on the swings (they give a long _creaak_ as they sit down; not incredibly reassuring) and wait for the girls. Murphy pumps his legs a bit, getting his swing moving. It creaks more as he flies back and forth.

“Swing with me,” he tells Bellamy, who stays put.

“I’m really afraid I’m going to break it,” Bellamy answers.

“Well, you’re no fun.” Murphy scuffs his feet on the ground, slowing.

“Sorry we’re late,” Clarke says. Murphy looks up to see the two walking towards him and Bellamy. Clarke is carrying a big tub of cookies, and Lexa an armful of blankets. “Once again, Clexa is doing all the work in this relationship.”

Lexa gives her a withering look. “Do you have to refer to us as a single entity? In the third person, no less?”

“Just be happy I gave you four of five letters.” Clarke waves her off.

Abby has made brownie-mix cookies with powdered sugar for their return. They’re even more cloud-like than Murphy remembers. He all but whimpers when he eats the first one.

“This is _exactly_ what we needed,” Bellamy says. His eyes are wide with what appears to be relief. “Your mom’s cookies can cure all ailments.”

“What ailment were you hoping to cure?” Lexa asks. She’s spreading the blanket and suddenly it feels like the night before, surrounded by each other and the stars, except instead of stars, there’s just a lot of clouds. They huddle up on the blanket.

“Don’t know,” Bellamy says as he eats another cookie (Murphy thinks it might be his fourth). “But it’s gone now.”

“What time is it?” Lexa asks.

“Quarter to five.”

“Oh, good.” She pauses. “We could get dinner later, if you all want.”

“We’re all out of money,” Murphy reminds her.

Clarke laughs. “We could all eat at my house, then. I’m sure I’ve got food.”

“More importantly, don’t you have the full boxset of _Avatar: The Last Airbender_?” Murphy remembers. Watching _Korra_ had sparked old memories, and Murphy really just wants to see the original series all over again.

“And a bonus hour-long documentary detailing the making-of process, of course,” Clarke says, proud.

“We’re _definitely_ going to your house for dinner.”

Clarke sighs dramatically. “I knew you only loved me for my stuff.”

“Well, it’s certainly not for your charm and grace.”

Murphy gets an elbow in the ribs for that. “How dare you! I _exude_ elegance.”

“Yeah, all right, Princess. Whatever you say,” Bellamy says, laughing. “Everyone knows— _ow!_ ”

Clarke has physically gotten up, walked over to Bellamy’s side of the blanket, and kicked him in the leg. Bellamy glares, almost pouting as he massages his leg.

“Want to call me Princess again?” Clarke smiles down at him.

“No,” he sulks. “This is harassment and intimidation,” he whispers to Murphy as Clarke settles back down on the blanket.

“Poor baby,” Murphy says, patting him on the shoulder. “You want a cookie?”

Bellamy frowns. “I’m not a _baby_ ,” he says lamely. “But, uh. A cookie would be nice.”

Murphy hands him another, grinning. “Better?”

Bellamy makes a face at him. “I suppose.”

“All done sulking there, Bell?”

“You kicked me!”

Clarke shrugs, grinning. “You had it coming.”

“You did have it coming,” Murphy admits.

“You’re all against me,” Bellamy insists.

“Whatever you say, Princess,” Clarke mimics.

Murphy barks out a laugh. “He does look good in pink.”

“Princesses can wear whatever color they damn well choose, Murphy,” Bellamy says, seeming to accept his title. “Anyway, does that make you my prince?

“Hmm. I guess so,” Murphy says. He sits up and gives Bellamy a dramatic bow. “Your highness.”

“We’re clearly the knights in this little fantasy world,” Clarke says. “Here to protect you.”

“I don’t know,” Lexa says. “I want to be a dragon.”

They all laugh at that, settling into amicable silence. Thesun is starting to go down,washing them in orange and gold. It all seems familiar, and Murphy welcomes the feeling.

“Let’s just stay here forever,” Clarke says. “Like last night. Let’s just pretend this weekend will never end.”

Murphy feels Bellamy’s fingers warm against his palm, and takes his hand. “I don’t think we have to pretend, after all,” Bellamy says.

“Hmm?”

“ _This_ won’t end.”

“This what?”

“Us. This weekend was just about us, and we’re not going anywhere. Not any of us, not really.”

Clarke coughs. “Well, let’s not speak for _Lexa_ over here…”

“I got a _full ride_ to a very _prestigious_ institution,” Lexa huffs, “isn’t that worth being an hour away?”

Clarke grumbles.

“It doesn’t matter if Lex is an hour away,” Bellamy says. “We’ll still all be best friends. Distance isn’t going to break us up. We love each other too much for that.”

“Aww, Bell.”

“Shh, I’m inspiring you. We’re going to have an awesome night tonight, just like we did last night and the night before. And then we’re going to wake up tomorrow morning and go to school, and that’s gonna be awesome too, because despite everything, we’re still going to be the same. _We_ made this weekend special, not the hotel or the shooting star or—anything. It’s just _us_.”

Clarke sniffs, joking. “Never took you for such a sentimental guy, Bell.”

“You bring it out in me,” he says, only half-joking.

“Okay, but Bell,” Murphy says, turning his head to face him. “You can’t honestly tell me you think the free bacon wasn’t special.”

“ _Murph-y_.”

“See, there it is. That whole speech was for nothing, you guys. It was only ever really about the bacon for him.”

Clarke gives him a sympathetic pat. “We’re here for you in this troubling time.”

“Thank you.”

Lexa clears her throat. “I know we haven’t been out here very long, but it’s very cold and I think we have a long night ahead of us if we want to get anywhere in _Avatar_.”

Clarke sits up. “That’s true. It’s like twenty-four hours worth of TV show.”

“I guess this means we won’t have time to watch all of it,” Murphy says.

Bellamy laughs. “You didn’t actually plan on watching _all_ of it, did you?”

“Excuse me for hoping.” Murphy reaches toward Lexa, who holds the tub of cookies out to him automatically, knowing exactly what he wanted. He chooses the biggest one he can find and takes a large bite. He sighs into it, chewing.

“All right then, losers. I guess we’re going to my house.”

They lift themselves off the ground, groaning. They trudge back to Clarke’s house, passing the tub of cookies between them. There are only broken pieces and crumbs left by the time they get back to Clarke’s, and by that time Abby has come home.

“You’re back!” she says, sounding happy but tired. They find her sunken into an armchair in Clarke’s living room, motionless. “I see you’ve found the cookies.”

“What’s left of the cookies,” Clarke corrects, setting the tub in the sink. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Of course. I don’t, er… I don’t suppose you’re all staying for dinner?”

Murphy almost feels bad for her, knowing how hard she works. Abby looks absolutely exhausted. “Clarke, we don’t have to—” he begins.

“No, no, I’ll take care of it, don’t worry,” Clarke says, waving him away. “I’ve got this. Mom, we’ll be upstairs.”

“Okay,” Abby agrees. “I’ll just be… here.” She’s already starting to drift off.

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Come on, let’s go. Aang and Katara aren’t gonna watch themselves.”

“Don’t forget Sokka and Appa,” Murphy says as they head up the stairs.

“You’re right, of course,” Clarke says. “Appa was the true hero of _Avatar_.”

~ ~ ~

Dinner turns out to be three boxes worth of mac and cheese, made by Clarke and Bellamy at around nine p.m. after they finish watching “Avatar Roku.” Murphy and Lexa, helpful as ever, sit sprawled on the couch, tapping away at their phones.

“We’re such good partners,” Murphy says blandly, watching Clarke and Bellamy bustling around the kitchen talking about pasta and water and flavor packets.

“Well, sometimes we are,” Lexa says, yawning. “Let’s just say today’s our day off.”

“I like the way you think,” Murphy says, appreciative.

“Of course, then Clarke will want a day off, and then so will Bellamy, and I am really not fond of cooking.”

Murphy hates cooking, but he’s not horrible at it. He’s had to figure things out from a pretty young age, so as not to starve to death from neglect. “You could probably cook mac and cheese, though. It’s mostly just stirring.”

“I suppose I could stir and you could do whatever else there is.”

“See? We’re a great team already.”

Lexa grins at him, and somehow Murphy feels victorious for making her smile. “Who needs them, anyway?”

“ _Exactly_.”

Bellamy comes over and plops down in the middle of the couch, forcing Murphy to scoot over or be crushed but Bellamy’s back. “Plotting to get rid of us?” he asks.

“More like discussing your usefulness,” Lexa says calmly.

Bellamy makes a face at Murphy. “What was your conclusion?”

He shrugs. “I guess we’ll keep you around.”

“Bless your hearts.”

“Bell, come on, it’s done!” Clarke calls from the kitchen.

“Better get back to my wifely duties,” Bellamy says, springing up again.

“Husbands can cook too, you know,” Lexa yells at him.

“Right! Sorry for my sexism!”

“Forgiven,” Lexa says. “ _For now_.”

They head back upstairs, somehow failing to wake Abby up despite their loudness, and watch a few more episodes of _Avatar_ over steaming bowls of mac and cheese. At ten thirty, Murphy’s practically falling asleep. Traveling was _exhausting_ , and although he’s not eager to admit it, Bellamy’s shoulder is a surprisingly decent pillow.

“I think we should probably get home,” Bellamy says when they finish “Jet”—one of Murphy’s least favorite episodes of Book 1. “I really don’t want to have to carry Murphy home.”

Murphy scowls. “You could not _carry_ me.”

“Want me to try?” Bellamy asks, opening his arms.

“No, no!” Murphy gets up quickly. “Do _not_ pick me up.”

“See you tomorrow,” Lexa says.

“See ya,” Bellamy says.

They’re halfway out the door when Bellamy says, “Oh, fuck.”

“What?”

“Fuck, we didn’t—we walked here,” he says.

“Oh. Fuck,” Murphy echoes. It’s cold out, and it’s not a short walk to Bellamy’s house. Not only that, but walking at night gives Murphy the creeps.

“You don’t want to walk back, do you?”

“Not really,” Murphy mutters. The answer is _hell no_ , but if that’s what they have to do, Murphy will do it.

“Think Abby will let me borrow her car?” Bellamy asks weakly, and Murphy laughs.

“Not in a million years.”

Clarke ends up having to drive them back to Bellamy’s, even though she’s not legally allowed to drive them yet. “Well,” she says when she drops them off, “I guess this is _actually_ goodbye.”

“Yeah, like the fourth one.”

“I’ll see you losers later, okay?”

“See you in English,” Murphy says.

Clarke’s eyes go wide.

“You… you did the essay, right?”

Clarke’s eyes only get bigger. Murphy laughs. “Oh fuck,” Clarke says. “Ohhh sweet Jesus fuck. Okay. I’m leaving now. Fuck. Okay. Bye, both of you, thanks for _reminding me_ , Murphy… fuck.”

She drives off at that. Bellamy gives Murphy a worried expression. “Is she fucked?”

Murphy shrugs. “She’s a really good student. Give her like three hours and I think she’ll be fine.”

“Good thing I made you do yours on Thursday, right?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

Bellamy lets them into the house. “You tired?” he asks.

“Yeah. I’m gonna be out the second I hit the pillow,” Murphy says, and as if to prove his point, he yawns widely.”

Bellamy scrunches his nose and yawns back. “Okay, you can go up then.”

“You’re not coming?”

Bellamy jabs a thumb toward the sink. “Octavia left all her dishes in the sink again, I gotta deal with them. I’ll come up when I’m done.”

And so Murphy finds himself once again in Bellamy’s room, hovering over the threshold between feeling out of place and feeling at home. But this time, he breathes out and crosses the line without asking permission. He searches for the pajamas in Bellamy’s bag and puts them on. They still smell like Bellamy but now they also smell like him; he thinks he likes the mix of the two most of all.

When Bellamy returns from washing the dishes downstairs, Murphy is already hazy with sleep in his bed, curled beneath the blankets. He feels the bed shift and Bellamy’s body filling the space, and sighs.

“Comfortable, are you?” Bellamy’s voice is quiet, fond.

“Mm. Yeah.”

He catches a sight of Bellamy’s grin before he switches off the lamp. “Those my pajamas again?”

Murphy snickers. “You’re just so easy.” His eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness, but he thinks he sees Bellamy roll his eyes. He feels a hand reach out and brush against his chest, moving upward.

Murphy squirms. “Dude, what are you _doing_?”

Bellamy laughs, finally locating Murphy’s arm. He moves down until he finds Murphy’s hand. “Just looking for ya.”

“Right here, dummy.”

Bellamy swipes his thumb across Murphy’s palm before taking his hand. “Did you have a good time?” He sounds searching, like he’s waiting for Murphy to say the weekend was horrible or something.

Murphy presses his face into the pillow. “Yeah. I thought we already established that this weekend was literally perfect.”

Bellamy sighs, seeming satisfied. “Yeah, I know. I just wanted to make sure. Sorry it couldn’t last longer.”

Murphy shifts, facing up to the ceiling. Bellamy’s arm stretches, not letting go of Murphy’s hand. “Nah, you were right. We don’t need the weekend to have fun. I think it just took getting away to realize it.” He squeezes Bellamy’s hand. “Thanks for taking us, Bell.”

“Ah, it was nothing. I’m really glad you liked it.”

“Yeah, I liked it. I like this.”

“This?”

“This. You know— _this_. You. I dunno.” God, Murphy’s _blushing_ , as if they hadn’t had the very same conversation just the night before.

“Aw, Murph.” He can hear Bellamy’s grin.

“…Shut up.”

Bellamy laughs. “I like you too.”

“I _knowww_. Shut up already.”

“I’m gonna hold you now, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever.” He tries to sound grudging, but Murphy can’t help it; he breaks into a smile as Bellamy pulls him closer and fits him against his chest like he belongs there. Murphy’s heart swells like it always does, because even if they’ve done this for the past three nights in a row, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. Bellamy squeezes him tighter for the briefest moment and the tickle of a sigh brushes his neck.

“Good night, Murph.” Bellamy says no more than that, but somehow Murphy hears everything else left unsaid. He hears the late nights and the long conversations; the teasing voice and the warm hands; he hears the _I love you_ and the _I’m glad you’re here_.

“See you tomorrow, Bell,” Murphy replies, and says it all back.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so much for reading and for all your support which made this so worth it.  
> hope you enjoyed reading this as much as i loved writing it, and don’t forget to tell me what you think!
> 
> check out the murphamy blog i run with my sister on tumblr, [@murphamyfanfiction](http://murphamyfanfiction.tumblr.com/)


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